


the wicked oppressing now cease from distressing

by justkatherinetheokay



Series: wonders great and small [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Texting, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5262128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkatherinetheokay/pseuds/justkatherinetheokay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing like Thanksgiving in South Carolina. (And Albany.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Wednesday

  


“Hey, babe.” Alexander’s voice was a little crackly in the voicemail, but just the sound of it was still enough to loosen the knot of tension that had only been growing tighter in John’s chest all day. Hearing it was almost enough to let him forget that the fields stretching out from the back porch where he stood in the twilight used to be a bona fide slave plantation. 

“So as it turns out, the weather app lied to me, a cold front blew through, and now it’s snowing up here! Isn’t that great?” Alexander’s sarcasm was just naturally rich enough that it came through perfectly, even over a shitty mobile connection. “I know you’d be happy,” he added, voice softening some. “Cause you still like snow, cause you were _home_ when _snowpocalypse_ happened and didn’t have to _live through it,_ damn you.” A pause. 

“Other than that, I mean, it’s pretty nice up here. The Schuyler house is fucking _huge,_ I feel like I’m hanging with the King of England or something—shh, Angelica, it’s true, leave me alone—I’m leaving a message for my poor boyfriend, _give_ me a minute—so anyway, there’s lots of food and actual quality alcohol, it’s great. I just wish you were here too.” He sighed heavily, or so John assumed the burst of static indicated. 

“Since you didn’t pick up I assume you’re in the thick of family time, so I hope everything’s going okay, and you should call me when you get this so I can tell you it’s okay and you’re awesome and it’s not just you, everything your dad says really is bullshit, okay?” John couldn’t quite help smiling at that. “Okay,” Alexander continued once he had caught his breath. “I can’t think of anything else clever to say, but I promise if I do I’ll text it to you. I love you. Please call me.” 

John glanced back through the window into the living room, wondering if he could steal enough time for a phone call. No one inside seemed to have particularly noticed his absence. 

Fuck them. 

“Hi!” For once Alexander took until the third ring to pick up. 

“Hey.” 

“Did you get my message?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You doing okay?” 

“Eh,” said John, shrugging, knowing Alexander knew him well enough that it would come through even without the body language. 

“Aw.” Alexander sighed. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s like…” John pitched his voice lower, glancing over his shoulder, reasonably paranoid, “no one’s said anything super terrible yet, you know? But I know someone _will_ , especially once everyone has a little more alcohol in them. So I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.” 

“Yeah.” Alexander sighed again. Then his voice perked up as he added, “You know what would be great would be if we could switch places, you know, so you could be up here where it’s snowing and everyone’s a decent human being, and I could be down there and fight your dad.” 

“I like the first clause,” said John. “That part’s good.” 

“Nah, both parts are good. It’s a win-win.” 

“No one’s fighting my dad, Alex.” 

“I would, though!” 

“Which is why you’re not here. One reason.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He could imagine Alexander running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I know. Hey,” he said, “you should text me running commentary, and I’ll fight your dad in my imagination!” 

“I think they’d start wondering who I was texting,” said John, “and I’m really hoping to avoid any version of that conversation. As much as I can.” 

“…Right.” Now Alexander just sounded defeated. John’s heart sank with his. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Everything about this sucks.” 

“Yeah.” 

“So it’s snowing in Albany?” John asked, knowing it was a very obvious way of changing the subject. Alexander sounded relieved, though. 

“Yeah! It’s terrible. Freezing and wet and now we’re stuck here until they manage to clear the driveway. Why do rich people have really long driveways? It’s so impractical.” 

“They make us feel powerful,” said John. “So why aren’t you out helping shovel it?” He smiled to himself as he waited for what he knew would be an outpouring of indignation. 

“Are you kidding?” Alexander didn’t disappoint. “It’s fucking _cold_ , John, I’m not going out there! I never want to be outside in the snow again if I can help it.” 

“I still don’t get how you can _hate_ snow. Weirdo.” 

“Just because _you_ were in _Charleston_ for the most _bullshit_ winter of our lives—” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“It was awful!” Alexander insisted. “You weren’t there! Highs of thirty _at best_ and the heating was out in the dorms!” 

“Didn’t Washington let you sleep on his couch?” 

“Well, yeah,” said Alexander, “but I’m still a small, fragile tropical flower who wasn’t made to withstand the cold—” 

“Aw, but baby, you’re _my_ small fragile tropical flower.” 

“Shit,” said Alexander, “I never should’ve said that out loud, should I?” 

“Yeah, I’m gonna change your contact name.” 

“God damn it. _But_ the point is, it was terrible for everyone, just ask _literally anyone_ who was actually on this side of the Mason-Dixon Line.” 

“Sure.” 

“Oh, shut up,” said Alexander, more affectionately than crossly. “Besides,” he added, dropping his voice to a whisper and, John thought, cupping a hand over the receiver, “Angelica’s boyfriend already volunteered to shovel the driveway himself, _with no help,_ because he _really_ wants to impress Mr. Schuyler, because Mr. Schuyler _hates_ him. For no apparent reason. It’s kind of hilarious. Especially cause, like, John—Angelica’s John—he’s all nice and polite and successful and shit, and I’m just, well, a little shit, but for some reason he really likes _me._ Actually, he likes me so much that _I_ get to call him Phil.” 

“That’s probably ’cause you’re not actually dating one of his daughters,” John pointed out. 

“You think?” said Alexander. “Fuck that, smash the patriarchy. But yeah, probably.” 

“Speaking of,” said John, as the knot began to tighten again. “What’s she like?” 

“Who?” 

“You know, the sister Angelica was trying to get you with.” 

“She was never _trying,_ she just thought maybe sometime,” said Alexander. “Eliza? I don’t know. Very pretty. Nice eyes. Sophomore at Sarah Lawrence. She’s very nice. I can see where Angelica was coming from.” 

“Figures,” said John lightly. 

“Hey,” said Alexander very seriously, “Non-starter. I’m taken.” 

“Right.” He must have sounded even unhappier than he felt, because Alexander took a breath that sounded ragged even through the phone. 

“John…” A long pause. “God, do I wish you were here. I could just shake you. And then kiss you better. I love you, okay? And I don’t love a lot of people, in any way, let alone like this. I mean, I’m easy, but I’m not _fickle,_ John, I’m not…” 

“I know.” John sighed. “I know. I do. It’s just…” 

“Yeah.” Alexander’s sigh was more frustrated. “Man, I miss you.” 

“It’s been like eight hours, Alex.” Less than that, probably, since John had finally managed to let go of Alexander outside airport security. 

“I know! It’s stupid. But.” 

“Nah, I get it,” said John; “I miss you too.” 

“Mm.” Alexander was quiet for a moment. Then: “Okay. On that note, I should probably stop being the annoying clingy guy who can’t stop talking to his boyfriend long enough to socialize.” 

“Hey, you’re not being clingy. I’m the one who called you.” 

“Yeah, but, you know, it’s an appearances thing.” 

“I should probably go back inside too,” John admitted, glancing back over his shoulder through the window. “Before someone comes to interrogate me. Which they’ll probably do anyway.” He sighed. 

“Eh,” said Alexander, “you have siblings, deflect it on them.” 

“I actually kind of _like_ my siblings.” 

“Your funeral.” 

“Yeah.” John closed his eyes for a moment to picture Alexander’s face in the highest quality he could conjure, and managed a smile to color the next words happier. “I’ll talk to you later, though.” 

“Later?” 

“Maybe tomorrow.” 

“I’d rather stay hopeful for _later,”_ said Alexander. “Maybe call me before you go to sleep?” 

“Maybe.” As John recalled, the walls upstairs were pretty thin, and even if one talked very quietly with the door shut there was always a chance someone else would be able to hear most of the conversation. “I can’t promise.” 

“That’s okay.” Alexander sighed. “In the mean time, remember, you’re going to be okay, everything your dad says is bullshit, and it’s only three days and then you’ll be home. With me. Who loves you. A lot.” 

“Only.” 

“You’ll be _fine,”_ said Alexander firmly. “You’re strong and brave and I believe in you.” 

“Thanks.” John straightened his shoulders, relaxed them, felt marginally better. “I really should go.” He paused. “You hang up first.” 

“No, you hang up first.” 

“Okay.” 

“No, wait! You’re not supposed to—” 

“Gotcha!” 

“Asshole.” A smacking sound as Alexander blew a kiss into the phone. “I love you. Talk to you later.” 

“Love you too. Bye.” John waited for Alexander to end the call before he shoved his phone into his pocket. Just in time, evidently, because at that moment Martha stuck her head out and said, 

“Jack? What’ve you been doing out here so long?” 

“Just checking my messages,” said John. “Is dinner ready?” 

“Yeah.” His sister slipped under his arm for half a hug, popping up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Anyone have anything interesting to say?” 

“Oh, nothing much.” 

“Aw,” said Martha, “I was kinda hoping you had a secret girlfriend or something.” 

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” John managed a weak laugh. “My life’s not _that_ exciting.” 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snowpocalypse 2014 = Valley Forge. Because. Laurens was at Valley Forge in history, but here we're pretending he wasn't because it makes things funnier.
> 
> Also, just so we're clear, this Martha is Martha Laurens (Ramsay), John's sister, not Martha Manning (Laurens). (But why were there so many Marthas) (No seriously of all the men prominently depicted in Hamilton I swear the only ones who were never married to someone named either Martha or Eliza(beth) were Madison and Lafayette)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving. Full of All-American traditions like eating macaroni and watching handegg.

  


Thursday

  


Small Fragile Tropical Flower 

  


Today 8:04 AM 

_(Rise n shine beautiful)_

(No) 

_(Ok fine I’ll text you later)_

( <3) 

_( <3 <3 <3) _

(Never one to be outdone) 

_(U kno it)_

  


Today 9:52 AM 

_(omfg)_

_(so)_

_(Mr John “Proper Englishman” Church is now drinking beer and watching American football to try and get Phil to like him)_

_(Every time they call it football he twitches)_

_(I’m so happy to have lived to see this with my own two eyes)_

_(Please tell me you’re awake John it’s 10 AM you’re an adult)_

(Aw man let me know how that game goes) 

_(Wait what)_

_(Why…?)_

(Dad to Henry: “Yanks play pussy ball, son, no need to turn on the tv til the real men start playing”) 

_(wtf)_

(Right) 

  


Today 10:27 AM 

_(“WOO HOO GO EAGLES!”)_

_(Now imagine that screamed at top volume in a British accent)_

_(I’m gonna piss myself)_

_(He’s trying so hard poor thing)_

_(I don’t give a horse’s ass about football but I shit you not this is the most entertained I have ever been in my entire life)_

(As someone who does give a horse’s ass about football, I feel that) 

_(Lol football)_

  


Today 10:41 AM 

(Go ahead and laugh, but I am so fucking glad the Panthers are playing today) 

(Cause 1. GO PANTHERS) 

(Oh god I’m numbering my text messages I AM BECOMING YOU) 

(Anyway 2. This way dad will actually be ok for most of the afternoon) 

_(Cool?)_

_(I guess?)_

(Yeah no it def is) 

(I don’t mind watching football with my dad) 

(It’s kind of the only time I like him) 

(Is that terrible?) 

_(Nah)_

_(It’s kind of nice you have a tradition with your dad that’s completely separate from the stuff you disagree on)_

_(Really it’s nice that you have a tradition with your dad at all)_

( :( ) 

_(hey don’t u worry about me I am having the time of my fucking life here)_

_(JC: “Yeah this is great, but their hands do make contact with the ball more often than their feet”)_

_(Phil: *blank stare*)_

_(brb making popcorn)_

(You’re such an asshole omg) 

_(You love it)_

(Yep) 

  


Today 12:44 PM 

(Why is the Thanksgiving Day parade just sesame street, a couple celebrity performers everyone’s forgotten about, some broadway musicals no one cares about, and a shit ton of high school marching bands from towns in like Wisconsin that no one’s heard of) 

_(I care about broadway musicals)_

(You know what I mean) 

_(Because the Thanksgiving Day parade is a meaningless bourgeois pageant designed to distract the country from the fact that this holiday is a celebration of a load of racist horseshit invented to appease the dominant political group by whitewashing their shitty history)_

(I love you so much) 

_( <3) _

  


Today 1:29 PM 

(“All right, boys, y’all ready to watch those faggot cowboys take it up the ASS?”) 

(Nah that’s ok dad I think I’ll just go have a nervous breakdown in the bathroom) 

_(Oh noooooooo)_

_(Shit)_

_(Are you gonna be ok?)_

_(John)_

_(John)_

_(Babe seriously are you ok)_

(I’m ok don’t worry) 

(Being in an environment where I’m encouraged to drink as much beer as possible definitely helps) 

_( :( )_

  


Today 1:37 PM 

_(…can I make a joke about it tho or will you get mad)_

(Shoot) 

_(Cowboys taking it up the ass? Well gosh Mr. Laurens if I’d known football was so much like brokeback mountain I might actually care)_

(How do you always manage to make everything better) 

_(I’m a very talented young man)_

(And so humble too) 

(So who won anyway) 

(Eagles or lions) 

_(The better question is, did JC win or did Phil?)_

(That is not the better question) 

_(Oh but it so is)_

_(And the jury’s still out)_

_(The jury being me, Aaron, and Eliza)_

_(And Peggy)_

(…you just didn’t pay enough attention to the game to know who won did you) 

_(What game?)_

(gdi Hamilton) 

_(You literally have a small supercomputer sitting in your hand Laurens)_

_(I know because you’re texting me with it)_

(Fuck you) 

_(Do you promise?)_

  


Today 2:10 PM 

(What’s Burr even been up to this whole time anyway) 

(I’d kinda expected this weekend to be just one long angry rant) 

(But so far nothing) 

_(Nah actually he’s been very quiet)_

_(Mostly just sitting in a corner glued to his phone)_

_(…which also describes me… Hang on)_

_(oh my god DOES HE HAVE A GIRLFRIEND)_

(Oh) 

(Heh) 

(Right) 

_(DOES THAT MEAN YOU KNOW SOMETHING)_

_(WHAT DO YOU KNOW)_

_(TELL ME TELL ME TELL ME)_

_(Please?)_

(I only know what I’ve heard from secondhand sources) 

_(WHAT SECONDHAND SOURCES)_

_(I will bribe you with dick pics)_

(What I’ve heard involves the words “older” and “married” and possibly “sugar momma”) 

(WAIT NO SHIT I didn’t see the last message before I sent that can I take it back and consider that offer) 

_(OH MY GOD)_

_(TOO LATE lol don’t worry you’ll get them regardless ;) )_

(You’re such a romantic) 

_(Wait but he’s not married so does that mean)_

_(IS HE THE MISTRESS)_

_(HOLY SHIT)_

(Well I wouldn’t say it to him in those words) 

_(IS HE A SUGAR BABY)_

_(“TRUST FUND” MY ASS)_

_(What better words are there)_

_(I can think of none)_

_(AND I AM ME)_

(Recognizing that tact is probs beyond you, maybe “on the side”) 

_(I CAN BE TACTFUL)_

(lol) 

_(fair point)_

  


Today 5:16 PM 

_(John)_

_(Johnnnnnnn)_

(What) 

_(Hi)_

(Hi) 

_(What’s going on there?)_

(Well dinner’s at 6) 

(So we’re in crunch time) 

(Been helping Martha mash potatoes) 

(Cabbage is boiling) 

(Now time to make the mac and cheese) 

_(Who tf eats mac and cheese for Thanksgiving)_

(Lots of ppl) 

_(Oh god I bet Thomas Jefferson does)_

(Dude does love his mac and cheese) 

(Actually I saw a map of popular Thanksgiving foods once and mac and cheese for Thanksgiving is just a southern thing) 

_(1. Whoever made that had WAY too much time on their hands)_

_(2. Yet another thing the South does that I hate)_

(You eat mac and cheese five days a week sometimes you fucking hypocrite) 

_(Yeah because it’s cheap and I’m POOR)_

_(idk it’s just not a Thanksgiving food)_

_(Up here we’re having normal Thanksgiving foods, like MASHED POTATOES and PIE)_

(Hey we have pie too) 

_(What kind of pie tho)_

(Pecan) 

_(I FUCKIN KNEW IT)_

(Yo ttyl ok) 

(I need both hands to make the mac and cheese) 

_(GOD)_

  


Today 7:53 PM 

_(Are you mad at me about the mac and cheese)_

(Dude no that was funny) 

(I’ve just been busy, you know, eating it) 

_(Oh right that)_

(Dumbass) 

_(How was dinner)_

(Fine) 

(Mostly everyone just talked about school) 

_(No “John why don’t you have a girlfriend yet”)_

_(?)_

(Nah, Dad just wanted to hear about my thesis) 

(And law school apps) 

(Good thing about there being 4 of us is the attention gets spread out) 

_(I can see that)_

_(What are you doing now?)_

(Board game w the sibs) 

_(What game?)_

(… I don’t want to tell you) 

_(OH MY GOD IS IT MONOPOLY JOHN WHAT THE FUCK)_

_(YOU’LL PLAY MONOPOLY WITH THEM BUT NOT WITH ME?)_

_(No one ever plays monopoly with me… :( )_

(It’s your own fault tho) 

(And you know it) 

_(Yeah ok tru)_

_(Only bc I’m really good at it tho)_

(Um yeah no) 

(No one wants to play Monopoly with you because you’re a total dick about it) 

(Don’t lie) 

_(Wow)_

_(Cold af, Laurens)_

(Monopoly destroys relationships when regular people who are NOT assholes play it Alexander) 

(I WILL NOT LET OURS BECOME ONE OF THEM) 

_(Aw bae)_

(Don’t you aw bae me) 

_(Ok are you mad at me now)_

(…eh) 

_( <3) _

(Martha: “ARE YOU TEXTING YOUR SECRET GIRLFRIEND?!!!?!!?!!?!!???!!!”) 

(She thinks I have a secret girlfriend) 

_(I mean she’s only half wrong)_

(I’ll call you later probably) 

_( :D )_

_(Ok bye)_

  


Today 8:24 PM 

(So it turns out I’m taking my sisters shopping) 

(Because Black Friday starts on Thanksgiving now) 

(Capitalism) 

_(Raise a glass to the free market)_

(No) 

_(Yeah no)_

_(Like this is a federal holiday jesus fuck)_

_(One place where the govt should really be reining in business goddamn)_

_(One of many)_

_(Would u like to hear abt the others)_

(I don’t miss you THAT much) 

(Try again tomorrow tho we’ll see where I’m at) 

_( :P )_

_(Meanwhile up here Peggy has been trying to convince the real adults of the crew to drive back down overnight, get to the city by like 4 AM, and go straight into shopping)_

(Wow that sounds awful) 

_(Angelica was going to acquiesce but then I pointed out that we’re still snowed in)_

  


Today 8:39 PM 

_(Oh shit now JC is going to go shovel it)_

_(FUCK)_

_(Why is no one stopping him like dude it’s fucking dark and zero degrees out)_

_(He’s going to freeze his balls off AND THEN HOW WILL HE AND ANGELICA HAVE BEAUTIFUL TALENTED SCARY CHILDREN)_

(Is that really your priority here) 

_(Send help)_

(How) 

_(I DONT KNOW)_

(Can’t you just stay there) 

_(Angelica is my ride back to the city so if she goes, no)_

(Well shit) 

_(Never thought Aaron Burr would ever be the voice of reason but)_

_(“Doesn’t Black Friday happen online too”)_

_(THANK GOD)_

(Crisis averted?) 

_(Hold me I’m traumatized)_

(I wish) 

_( :( )_

(Driving now ttyl) 

_(Ok)_

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be real, Alexander Hamilton would be the least fun Founding Father to play any board game with, probably.
> 
> Except Twister.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capitalism. Awesome! Wow!

Still Thursday

  


“Hello!” Alexander sounded a lot less tired than John felt. “How’s shopping?” John surveyed the store around him from where he sat on one of the benches set at the ends of the aisles and aisles of designer shoes for people to sit and try them on. 

“Ugh.” Henry wouldn’t come because their father had gotten into his head that shopping was for girls, and yet John had to go because, even though literally the only difference between his and Martha’s legal status as adults was that she couldn’t drink yet, as young women out at night they somehow needed a chaperone. And yet, as shitty as all that was, what John wouldn’t have given at that moment to have bought his father’s toxic masculinity bullshit enough to have fought him on it and stayed home. If Dad was going to insist on being a patriarchal douchebag, he could at least do his own patronizing and take them himself. 

“Sounds like you’re having a blast,” said Alexander. “So where do rich people shop on Black Friday? I’ve always wondered.” 

“Well I don’t know about _actual_ Black Friday,” said John dryly, “but right now we’re in a fucking Designer Shoe Warehouse.” 

“Sounds like your kind of place.” 

“Ha.” 

“Sounds like _my_ kind of place?” 

“Yeah, actually,” said John, considering, “you’d probably be in heaven with all the stupid shiny shoes and shit.” 

“Mm.” Alexander sighed happily. John was sure he was at least half-joking. Probably. “All the things I can’t afford. Props for alliteration, by the way.” 

“Thanks.” 

“It’s so unfair that _you_ have money, you never spend it on anything _nice.”_

“You’re nice, I’ll spend it on you.” 

“Ehhhh.” 

“What?” 

“I’m not a sugar baby, unlike _some_ people.” That was kind of a confusing way to put it, until Alexander sighed and whispered, “damn it, no reaction.” So that was passive-aggressively directed at Burr. Sometimes it was a little hard to follow conversations with Alexander without being in the same room. 

“I don’t think she’s _actually_ his sugar momma, Alex, she’s just older and married.” 

“But it’s so much more fun to believe she is.” 

“Sure.” John shook his head. “Hey, Christmas is coming. I’ll buy you nice shit for Christmas, that’s totally legit.” 

“That’s true.” 

“What do you want?” 

“Specifically, or in general?” 

“I don’t know?” said John. “Either?” 

“Well, in general,” said Alexander, so intensely serious that he was obviously joking, “I want… to be a Kardashian, basically.” 

“Oh, well, that’s easy,” said John, and glanced around to make sure none of his siblings was nearby before he dropped his voice to add, “just make a sex tape.” 

“Now there’s an idea.” And Alexander sounded just a little _too_ pleased by it. “I assume you’re in on this plan in, shall we say, a big way?” 

“No comment.” 

“Well, if not, I can always go the Robert route and, like, defend someone famous who _obviously_ did something terrible, and win, and become rich and famous that way.” 

“That way is actually so much more horrifying, though.” 

“Well, okay then. Sex tape it is.” Someone else in the room on the other side said something in response to that, and before John had time to wonder who Alexander answered the question by snarking back, “please, Burr, as if you wouldn’t watch the _shit_ out of that.” 

“So anyway,” said John. “How’s snowed-in internet Black Friday?” 

“No clue,” Alexander replied. “I can't afford it. Burr's doing his own thing in here, but everyone else is hanging in the computer room. Did I mention they have a computer room? That’s, like, a thing people have. A whole separate room for the computer.” 

“My dad calls his the library,” said John. 

“Well, that’s pretentious as fuck,” said Alexander, just as Martha appeared from nowhere to sit down on the bench beside John, who came just shy of having an actual heart attack. 

“No kidding,” he said. “Hey, sorry, but can I call you back later?” 

“Why, what’s happening?” said Alexander, very unhelpfully. Martha frowned, mouthing _who are you talking to?_

“Sister.” 

“Oh, okay.” Alexander’s tone changed instantly from casually confused to serious. “Love you. Talk to you later.” 

“I—yeah.” John almost said it back as an automatic reflex before he realized his sister was sitting there looking at him in confusion, and just barely caught himself. “Bye.” He spared not a second in hanging up this time, and tried to be casual about putting his phone away even as every muscle in his body felt tense enough to snap. 

“Who were you talking to?” Martha asked again, out loud this time. 

“My,” said John, and the instant it took stretched way too long before he remembered that his family did know Alexander existed, albeit only as his “—roommate. He doesn’t have a family to go to for Thanksgiving, so he’s kinda lonely.” 

“Aw,” said Martha. “That’s a shame. You know, if we’d only known, I’m sure Dad would’ve invited him down here.” 

“Yeah,” said John, “uh—maybe. Oh well.” 

“Maybe next year,” Martha suggested, “except—aw, next year’ll be different! You’ll be a _law_ student then.” 

“Yeah,” said John again, as his stomach twisted horribly. 

“How’s the law school stuff going, anyways?” she asked, settling back against the shelf. “I know you’re applying to Duke, ’cause Dad won’t stop talking about it, but are you looking anywhere else?” 

“Well,” said John. “Harvard’s the dream, right? And Columbia Law, ’cause I already know the campus and the city…” 

“Do you really want to stay in New York, though?” Martha wrinkled her nose. “I could _never._ It’s so crowded.” John shrugged. 

“All my friends are there.” 

“Well, I could never.” Martha sighed. Then she turned a look on him that was suspicious, knowing, and maybe a touch evil. “All your _friends_ , hmm? Any of those friends girls, maybe?” 

“Still don’t have a secret girlfriend,” said John. “That hasn’t changed since the last time you asked.” 

“Well, why _not?”_ Oh, joy; here it came. 

“How would I possibly have found someone new to be my secret girlfriend in the past three hours?” 

“Don’t sass me, Jack, you know what I meant.” 

“Well, I don’t know.” John shrugged, and decided to go the self-deprecating route. “I mean, look at what a catch I am, you’d think they’d be lining on up.” 

“Well, you used to date in high school,” said Martha. “So what happened?” _I moved out of the giant muggy closet that is the entire state of South Carolina._

“Hey, Ivy League’s hard,” John told her. “Ain’t nobody got time for that.” 

“Aw.” Martha offered a sad pout. “So I don’t get to be a maid of honor anytime soon?” 

“Aw, so sad for you.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” She scootched over to rest her head on his shoulder. “I just wish you’d got somebody to make you happy, you know?” In almost too-perfect time, John’s phone buzzed in his pocket with a new message. It should have made him feel better, probably, but somehow in combination with her presence it kind of did the opposite. 

“I know,” he muttered. 

  


Today 11:43 PM 

_(Hey, since it’s almost midnight and I still haven’t heard back I assume you’re still out shopping, poor thing, so whenever you see this, know that I’m going to bed now but I love you and hope the rest of your night’s going okay)_

  


Today 11:59 PM 

(Love you too. Sleep well. We’ll talk in the morning.) 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There really is a Designer Shoe Warehouse near Charleston, South Carolina. (In Mount Pleasant, to be specific.) I googled it to make sure. That is the kind of effort I put into making sure my fics are realistic. So much effort. Please be grateful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little siblings can be a lot to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But gosh I'm so happy to be back with mine.
> 
> Ok so for one thing this chapter took forever to finish and I'm sorry about that aaahhhhh
> 
> For another, this got like really unhappy really fast and I'm so unsure how that happened but yeah, here's where we'll start to earn that "abusive parents" tag. Also featuring panic attacks, discussion of lots of mental health issues, and kinda vague references to suicidal thoughts. And, sadly, minimal Alexander.
> 
> So, now that it's a month later...

  


Friday

  


“Happy Black Friday!” John was rudely awakened by Ella flopping onto his legs. 

“Ow.” 

“Morning!” said Martha cheerily, luckily avoiding actually sitting on him as she joined their youngest sister on his bed. Their youngest sibling, in truth, though four years later he still wasn’t used to thinking of her as that, even though she was now. And god knew it was too early to be dwelling on _that._

“What the fuck time is it?” 

“Jack!” Martha swatted at his head. He swatted back. “There are _ladies_ present.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“If Dad knew you were swearing in front of Ella…” 

“She’s _fifteen,_ Mar, I bet she’s heard worse at school.” He cocked an eyebrow at Ella, who nodded sagely. 

“Still,” said Martha, then leaned over him to snatch his phone from the nightstand. “Why is a tropical flower asking you how to shovel snow?” 

“Oh, Jesus.” John sat up with a groan. “Give me that.” _Today 6:08 AM_ —“It’s fucking six in the morning?” he snapped. 

_“Jack!”_

“It’s _six in the morning,_ Martha?” 

“The sales have been open since four,” she pointed out. 

“The sales have been open since four _yesterday!”_ John retorted. “I know! _I was there!”_

“Not _all_ the sales. Some didn’t open until this morning. So now we’ve got to go to those.” 

“Good to know some stores are still run by decent human beings,” John grumbled, and looked back at his phone. 

Today 6:08 AM 

_(RED ALERT RED ALERT)_

_(I HAVE BEEN DRAFTED INTO SNOW-CLEARING DUTY)_

_(PHIL IS APPARENTLY GOING EASY ON JC NOW)_

_(WHICH A. IS BAD BECAUSE DECREASED ENTERTAINMENT VALUE)_

_(BUT B. IS WORSE BECAUSE NOW AARON AND I HAVE TO HELP)_

_(JOHN HOW DO YOU SHOVEL SNOW I DONT KNOW HOW TO SHOVEL SNOW)_

He wasn’t done, either. The messages were still coming in, the little _typing_ bubble in constant motion. 

_(ALSO)_

_(POINT OF NOTE)_

_(THE GIRLS DONT HAVE TO HELP)_

_(PHIL: EH YOU THREE CAN CLEAR IT IN NO TIME BIG STRONG MEN LIKE YOU)_

_(ANGRY FEMINIST TM ANGELICA SCHUYLER: NOT A WORD)_

_(ANGELICA)_

_(NOT A FUCKING WORD)_

_(IM GONNA KILL HER)_

(Maybe don’t) 

(She is your ride home after all) 

_(OH GOOD YOURE UP)_

_(HELP ME)_

(Not willingly) 

_(WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WONT HELP ME WILLINGLY)_

(That’s not what that was in response to) 

_(WHAT KIND OF BOYFRIEND ARE YOU)_

John hit the power button as fast as he could, before Martha could see, and set his phone face down on the nightstand. 

“So?” she said. “Will you take us? Please?” 

“Henry has his license now, right?” said John. “It’s his turn.” 

“He wouldn’t get up,” Ella piped up. 

“And what makes y'all think I will?” 

“Well!” Martha seized his phone again before John could move to stop her and was gone in an instant, followed by Ella, both shrieking with laughter. 

“Mother _fucker,”_ he snarled, stomach instantly imploding into a black hole of panic as he leapt out of bed and chased after them, unable even to stop to put a shirt on. He caught up to them out on the landing at the top of the stairs, nearly bowling Martha over before he managed to wrest the phone from her hand. 

“Whoa,” she said, “I didn’t realize you would—” 

“What the _fuck?”_ John didn’t realize he was shouting until he had. His sisters both went very still. 

“Jack,” Martha began— 

“Why on earth would you think that was an okay thing to do?” Neither one answered. “You don’t just _steal_ someone’s phone, what the _fuck—”_

“Jack.” A much more commanding voice startled him enough to cut him off. As soon as he did Ella’s face collapsed and she turned away, pressing against Martha’s shoulder as her shoulders shook with quiet tears. The elder of his younger sisters just glared at him, her perfect-Southern-belle façade dropped for the moment. Worst of all, their father stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the three of them, his face a mask of disappointment—not _more_ than anger so much as substituting for it on the outside. His stomach was back, but he wished it wasn’t. “That’s not how we treat others in our family. Look, now you’ve made your sister cry.” 

“I’m sorry,” John said quietly, wretchedly. Suddenly his lungs couldn’t seem to take in enough air. “I’m sorry, Ella. I didn’t mean to. I’ll—of course I’ll drive you, if y'all want.” 

“I’d rather you didn’t, now, myself,” said Martha coolly. 

“No,” Henry Laurens, Senior, agreed from the lower floor. “If the girls want to go shopping, I’ll take them. You’ll stay here.” 

“Okay.” John nodded numbly. 

“And you’ll give me your cell phone,” their father added. John froze entirely. 

“I—what? No!” He shook his head. That _wasn't_ a reasonable course of action, not actually. He knew that. There was an argument. He could make it. If he could just—“I—I’m an adult. I’m twenty-two, Dad, you can’t take away my phone.” 

“I can if you want to have a phone at all.” He started up the stairs. “As long as I’m paying for it, you answer to me for your behavior with it.” 

“That’s not—” 

“It seems more than reasonable to me.” Just like that he stood looming over him, and John was, perhaps, so young as to count his years in the negatives. So his father could make him feel. 

“Fine,” he said, and paused for a nerve-wracking moment to power it down all the way before he set it in his father’s outstretched, beckoning hand. Henry Sr. raised his eyebrows. 

“Something you don’t want me to see, Jack?” 

“I just want to conserve the battery,” said John. “If I’m not going to use it.” 

“Oh, of course.” He didn't exactly sound convinced. John tried to hope that didn't mean he'd be turning it back on and trying to work out his passcode, or worse, demanding it. There was so much Alexander on that phone. If Henry Sr. managed to get into it... 

“When do I get it back?” 

“When I decide you should,” his father told him. “Now go put a shirt on, son.” 

“Right,” said John, and ordered his limbs to move. They complied, and he was able to walk past his father and back down the hall with just a glance at Martha where she still stood hugging a sniffling Ella. _Sorry,_ he tried to convey. She looked away. 

There had been still more all-caps messages on the screen when John powered it off, but he hadn’t had time to read them. Alexander would worry, he knew, but what the fuck could he do about it? 

John flopped back into his bed, pulling the covers up over his head, and would gladly have gone back to sleep if his brain would have let him—but instead an awful feeling had half-consumed his stomach, and his mind couldn’t stop racing. It was all familiar, a painful mixture of anxiety and self-loathing, but until now it had been a distant kind of thing; John hadn’t felt it in almost a year. (He had escaped it since last Christmas by staying in the city over the summer; thank god for Washington, his need for research TAs, and his lenience when he occasionally caught them making out instead of, well, researching.) 

In truth the feeling followed him now the instant he set foot back in South Carolina, but usually it was more of a dull roar in the back of his mind, leaving him quietly tense and irritable. Right now it was paralyzing. 

Once it passed—more or less—he stayed where he was, screwing his eyes closed around half-formed tears and willing his mind to fade into sleep. At some point he must have gotten his wish, because he woke up later when sunlight was filtering through the slats in his shades only to discover that he had fallen asleep at all. The clock read a quarter to ten. John’s head was a little fuzzy with sleep, and for a few seconds he fumbled for his phone, slapping at his pillow, his mattress, the hard wood of the nightstand before he remembered. Right. No phone, and by extension no Alexander to cheer him up about not having the phone, or _why_ he didn’t have the phone. For a second John considered just going back to sleep, to see if he could sleep through the next day and a half until it was time to go back to New York—but there was no way in hell Dad would let him. The consequences would probably just be the worse if he tried. 

With that in mind he forced himself out of bed to face the day, put on real clothes, and went down to the kitchen to look through the leftovers for something breakfast-like. Pie, he decided on surveying the contents of the refrigerator, seemed reasonable. It wasn’t like any of the dining-hall pastries he subsisted on most mornings were any more nutritious, as breakfasts went. He cut himself a slice, took it to the table, and did his best to focus his full attention on eating so his mind couldn’t torment him with anything else. It worked, kind of. 

“Hey,” said Henry sleepily, wandering through in sweatpants to pour himself a huge bowl of some kind of cereal that looked like diabetes waiting to happen—not that John had any room to judge, as he was finishing up his second piece of pie. “Wha’s goin’ on? ‘D I hear yellin’?” 

“Yeah.” John swallowed the last bite and looked down again. 

“What happened?” Henry plopped down in the seat opposite him and sprawled across the table for half a second before he sat back up. “Ow. Cold.” 

“So put a shirt on.” John reached across the table to mess up his brother’s hair, curls already sticking out in every direction. “Dad’d have your hide if he saw you sittin’ at the table half-naked.” 

“Aw,” said Henry, offering him a cockeyed grin. “You’re soundin’ like you again, Jack. New York keeps takin’ away your accent, sometimes y'almost sound like a fuckin’ Yank.” 

“Watch your mouth!” John smacked his arm. “What’re you now, nine? That kind of language’s _not_ appropriate for your age group.” 

“I’m not _nine!”_ Henry protested, even as his face split into the bright grin that, in truth, could make any of the Laurens siblings look like a little kid on Christmas. 

“Right, I forget. You’re still just eight.” 

“Man, get out!” 

“Okay, but I’m takin’ the pie.” 

“Seriously,” Henry said again, sobering, voice lowering to its true sixteen-year-old depth and in truth losing a bit of his own accent for speaking more deliberately, “what was all the yelling about?” John sighed. 

“Martha stole my phone, I got mad, Ella cried, _Dad_ got mad…” He shrugged. “It was just a real shitshow of a morning. And of course _I’m_ the one that got punished, he took my phone away.” 

“Sucks, bro.” Henry made a face. “You wanna get it back? I know how to get into his safe.” He _would_ have put it in a fucking safe, John reflected bitterly. 

“Nah,” he said, “not really worth the risk of, you know, filicide.” 

“Filicide?” 

“Killing your own kid, what, you didn’t learn that in English yet? Wasn’t Oedipus sophomore year?” 

“That was _patricide,_ Jack, didn’t _you_ read it?” 

“Well, yeah, but when I read it, we learned all the ’cides at once, I thought.” Though he’d known a couple already, of course. He shrugged. “Anyways.” 

“He wouldn’t _kill_ you,” said Henry. _At least,_ John amended internally, _not directly._ “I mean, we might get in more trouble, but it wouldn’t be…” 

“Nah, see, you just think it wouldn’t be so bad ’cause you can get away with shit like that,” John pointed out. “You’re in the middle, but you’re still one of the kids. I’m the oldest, so I should know better.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Yeah it’s bullshit, not gonna argue with that, I’m just lettin’ you know the status quo as I live it.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Henry sighed, his face glum. “Okay, whatever. Where’s everybody now?” 

“Out shopping, I think.” John shrugged. “They’ll probably be out for a while. You wanna watch a movie or something?” Henry’s face lit up again. 

“Aw, man,” he said, “can we watch Star Wars?” 

“Sure.” John stood and went to put the pie back in the fridge. “Like, all of them, or—?” 

“Nah, just the original trilogy,” said Henry, “cause, you know, Luke and Leia and Han are comin’ back!” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Aren’t you _psyched?”_

“Yeah.” John smiled, half to himself; no one was as psyched as Alexander, who had once explained to John in depth the reasons he related hardcore to Luke Skywalker. He had done this very early in their acquaintance, well before they started dating, while very drunk. That was not the night John fell in love, but only because he could find some reason in pretty much any of the nights they had first hung out as friends to name it _the night he fell in love._

“I’ll get it going!” Henry ran off toward the family room, leaving John to do the dishes, of course. Once his brother was gone, he instinctively reached for his phone to shoot off, _guess what I’m watching without you <3_— 

But of course, it wasn’t there. The anxiety rose again, but for the moment he fought it down. Today was going to be okay. Today was going to be okay. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again in case it wasn't clear, the siblings who appear here are Martha, Henry, and Mary Eleanor (here, Ella) Laurens.
> 
> Also I just saw the new Star Wars yesterday and I had somehow forgotten how into Star Wars I used to be about a decade ago? (Back before I discovered Star Trek and superheroes, those other cornerstones of nerd media.) But seriously, in the later years of elementary school I used to check out these giant concept art and behind-the-scenes and worldbuilding books from the library and I wasn't quite old enough to really get into the EU but I did start (I have so many feelings about the Solo kids and their generation still? which only contributed to my feelings about TFA) so long story short I used to know like everything about the Star Wars universe, so I sat down in the theater and the opening scroll started rolling and I was like OH RIGHT. Chewie, we're home, indeed. SO now I kind of have it on the brain. And so many feelings. And a very real and desperate need for more, preferably right now. Especially everyone's backstories. Like Rey. And stormpilot. Everything is great. Holy shit. I cannot deal. I may have to start writing for yet another fandom. ANYWAY
> 
> (And, lbr, inside, Luke, too, was longing for something to be a part of / the brother was ready to beg, steal, borrow, or barter... ) (Then the Empire came, and devastation reigned, our man saw his future drip drippin down the drain...) (ok I'm done now I promise)
> 
> I continue to be found on tumblr @justkatherinetheokay or, even better, @tobyzieglerintraining


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday morning on Alex's phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So anyway here's what Alex has been doing all morning

  


THE CUTEST 

  


Today 6:08 AM 

(RED ALERT RED ALERT) 

(I HAVE BEEN DRAFTED INTO SNOW-CLEARING DUTY) 

(PHIL IS APPARENTLY GOING EASY ON JC NOW) 

(WHICH A. IS BAD BECAUSE DECREASED ENTERTAINMENT VALUE) 

(BUT B. IS WORSE BECAUSE NOW AARON AND I HAVE TO HELP) 

(JOHN HOW DO YOU SHOVEL SNOW I DONT KNOW HOW TO SHOVEL SNOW) 

(ALSO) 

(POINT OF NOTE) 

(THE GIRLS DONT HAVE TO HELP) 

(PHIL: EH YOU THREE CAN CLEAR IT IN NO TIME BIG STRONG MEN LIKE YOU) 

(ANGRY FEMINIST TM ANGELICA SCHUYLER: NOT A WORD) 

(ANGELICA) 

(NOT A FUCKING WORD) 

(IM GONNA KILL HER) 

_(Maybe don’t)_

_(She is your ride home after all)_

(OH GOOD YOURE UP) 

(HELP ME) 

_(Not willingly)_

(WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WONT HELP ME WILLINGLY) 

_(That’s not what that was in response to)_

(WHAT KIND OF BOYFRIEND ARE YOU) 

(JOHN) 

(IN MY TIME OF NEED) 

(HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE) 

  


Today 6:15 AM 

(ok where did u go) 

(DID YOU GO BACK TO SLEEP) 

(GOD DAMN IT) 

  


Today 7:21 AM 

(Are you awake yet) 

(ok I guess not) 

(Pls wake up so you can text me) 

(I’m pathetic) 

  


7:44 AM 

(Angelica is in on the Torture Burr game now this is gr9) 

(We are now talking loudly about how our society needs a word for the guy a woman cheats on her husband with) 

(Because like we could use mistress but it’s heavily gendered and so it doesn’t convey nearly the same situation thru its connotation because gender roles and shit) 

(Of course all our vocab to discuss cheating is v gendered to begin with not least bc it is universally viewed thru a heteronormative lens and always has been) 

(But anyway so we’re talking about this and everyone else looks very confused and like poor Eliza n Peggy keep tryna contribute and I mean Eliza has good stuff to say but neither of them gets The Game) 

(I wish you were here bc a. I always wish you were here and b. you would get The Game and c. you would have good shit to contribute to this conversation) 

(tbh I’m kinda getting worried that poor JC is going to start thinking that like Angelica is sleeping w me or smth because of how in-depth we’re going with these ~hypotheticals~ but anyway BURR) 

(GLARING) 

(At his EGGS) 

(Like they KILLED HIS FAMILY) 

(But he’s still sitting here just being ABSOLUTELY SILENT but also he’s like vibrating with anger) 

(THIS IS GREAT) 

  


Today 8:36 AM 

(Johnnnnnnn) 

  


Today 8:54 AM 

(JOHNNNNN) 

(Ok seriously how has your phone buzzing not woken you up yet) 

  


Today 9:22 AM 

(Heading back to the city now) 

(In the back of Angelica n JC’s car) 

(Please wake up soon I’m bored) 

  


Today 10:14 AM 

(Eliza Schuyler is better at the alphabet game than me) 

(I, Alexander Hamilton, am definitely typing this text message of my own accord and am under no obligation to do so since I certainly did not bet Okay Not Public Humiliation But How About Humiliation Before Audience Of Boyfriend that I could win two out of three games in the past hour) 

(Of which I totally won at least one and absolutely not none at all) 

(Avenge me John) 

  


Today 10:29 AM 

(Ok seriously babe where are you) 

(Like I am profoundly aware that you usually sleep much later than me but you like never sleep past ten and I mean sure that’s often a direct result of my own actions but come on) 

(It’s 10:30 AM John wake the fuck upppppppp) 

  


Today 10:45 AM 

(Ok I waited fifteen minutes and got nothing so I’m going to call you now) 

  


Today 10:47 AM 

(Ok so you didn’t pick up) 

(Gonna assume you’re driving or having mandatory family time or some shit in which case I will stop bugging you for now) 

(Pls text me when you get this so I know you’re, you know) 

(Alive) 

  


Today 1:12 PM 

(Hello?) 

(John I’m getting legitimately worried here) 

(Ok I sincerely apologize in advance for doing this but I hope you’ll understand why I feel the need to) 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Ooh who is this kid) WHAT'S HE GONNA DO?
> 
> I can still be found on tumblr @justkatherinetheokay or more accurately @tobyzieglerintraining  
> Feel free to ask me anything about my fic or just about like life in general


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Very Tense phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual Alex POV which was never actually supposed to happen in this fic? But apparently I can't write without switching POVs at some point so here we are
> 
> Ft. emotional abuse, general Henry Laurens Sr. douchery, and references to suicidality  
> So, you know, the usual fare

  


“Laurens,” said the voice on the other end of the line. It was deep and unfamiliar. It occurred to Alexander that being told it was Henry speaking wouldn’t actually clear anything up, not that he needed to be told, since if it wasn’t John, which it wasn’t, it had to be one Henry or the other. Safest to assume it was Henry Senior and proceed accordingly. 

“Hi,” he said carefully. “I’m looking for John?” 

“Could I tell him who’s calling?” said hypothetically-John’s-dad. That seemed like a good sign already. 

“Tell him it’s Alex.” 

“The roommate?” 

“I—yes. His roommate.” Nothing immediate in reply, so Alexander added on a whim, “It’s just I’ve been trying to reach him all morning but I guess his phone must be dead or something because—” 

“I’m afraid he’s lost the privilege of phone usage for the day.” The man on the other end cut him off curtly. Even on this end of the phone, safe in the back of a car six states away, Alexander still froze. Jesus fuck. Definitely Henry Senior, then. 

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” he said carefully. “I wouldn’t have tried calling the house, except it’s very important that I speak to him immediately, there’s—there’s kind of a big problem here that I need to consult him on how to deal with.” _Yeah there is,_ he heard Angelica whisper to herself up front, and ignored her. 

“What is it?” Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. Alexander ground his teeth and thought for as long a pause as he dared take, which wasn’t much use when his mind was still darting every which way in concern. 

“Um—a pipe kind of burst in our apartment, and I’m pretty much useless with tools, I mean, John’s the one who actually knows how to fix stuff around here, so—” that wasn’t necessarily _true_ , but he figured Henry would like hearing that about his son; it sounded very macho and heterosexual, probably. 

“Just call a plumber, kid,” said Henry Laurens shortly. 

“It’s a federal holiday, sir,” said Alexander, silently ecstatic that the burst of inspiration had hit him when it did—“I don’t think plumbers probably work on Black Friday?” 

“I’ll bet they do,” Henry countered, “and seeing as it’s Black Friday, you might even get a discount, which it seems perhaps you could use.” A sentence that could have been innocuous enough, or even kind if phrased a little differently—but no. 

“I’d really rather speak to John,” he said firmly. “Money isn’t the issue—” (it would have been in real life—) “it’s just economical. And I wouldn’t want to inconvenience anyone on a day everyone should be spending with their families.” Family values, that was the way to get him. Probably. Alexander held his breath. 

“Huh.” Henry grunted. “All right, fine. I’ll get him.” 

“Thanks.” Alexander heard him cup a hand over the receiver and took the opportunity to exhale as, on the other end, Henry Laurens Sr. hollered for _Jack_ to come running. After a few endless moments the phone shifted and the voice on the other end changed to offer a wary, 

“…Hello?” 

“Hey.” Alexander let the tension drain from his spine, relaxation modulating his voice back to gentle. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah?” 

“He took your phone away? What the fuck for?” 

“Yeah. It’s turned off.” 

“Good thinking, if he’s got it. But what the fuck.” 

“I know.” John sighed. “What’s up?” 

“Well, as far as your dad knows, a pipe burst in our apartment and, well… you’re the one who handles the tools in this relationship.” 

“God knows I try,” John drawled, his tone long-suffering, and Alexander had to stifle a laugh. 

“Well, don’t you sound like a right proper Southern gentleman,” he said, mimicking John’s accent (it was never as strong when he was in New York). “Revertigo much?” 

“Bite me,” said John. Alexander smirked, and dropped his voice about an octave to reply, 

“Wherever you want.” 

“Sure.” 

“I love you.” 

“Uh-huh.” John sounded slightly choked on the first syllable, as if it was hard to get out. Not being able to say it back must suck, under these circumstances. 

“‘I love you too, Alexander?’” 

“Don’t get all gross,” said Angelica loudly. Again, he ignored her. 

“Yeah, that one.” He could hear John fighting off a smile. “So—what are you going to do now?” 

“Well,” said Alexander, slipping easily into the double entendres the rest of the conversation would have to be, at least on John’s end—he liked to think himself a master of the form when it was sexual, so he could probably do pretty well in this context too—“I figured I would feed you the instructions I would be following if I did have to fix a pipe, and in between I’ll ask you yes or no questions to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I am,” said John simply. 

“Well, I believe that now, but you can understand why I might have freaked out a little when you didn’t respond for six hours straight.” 

“Yeah, of course.” John sighed. “Sorry about that.” 

“You don’t need to apologize, it’s not your fault.” 

“I guess. So, first…” 

“Oh, okay.” Alexander considered. “Where’s the leak?” 

“Where’s the leak?” 

“The most convenient place possible, probably. I don’t know.” Alexander shrugged to himself. “Now say, the water’s off, right?” 

“The water’s off, right?” 

“No, it’s gushing all over the place and the apartment’s going to be flooded before long if I don’t figure out how to stop it. So I need to find the water shut-off where it connects to the main, which in our kitchen is under the sink.” 

“Okay, okay. Slow down,” said John, very convincingly, probably because Alexander needing to be told to slow down was not exactly a rare occurrence. “It’s not enough to turn off the faucet, idiot—” 

“Hey now—” 

“—You have to actually shut off the water where it connects to the main. So find the thing under the sink.” He paused. “Have you found it?” 

“Yes, but now I’m drowning.” 

“Okay, well, maybe try not to drown.” 

“I’m drowning in my love for youuuu…” 

“Don’t be gross!” said Angelica again, more insistently, as John said, 

“Jesus Christ, Alex—sorry, Dad, sorry—okay, but you did that?” 

“He’s still standing right there?” Alexander shook his head. “Oh my god, how do you _live?”_ He heard John exhale sharply, and instantly regretted his phrasing. “Shit. Sorry. Sorry. I know. Um—okay, so now that the water’s off I would start actually fixing the thing, but since in this imaginary fantasy world you’re the one who does that actually what I would do is just go without water in the kitchen for the next day so that you can look at it yourself when you get home.” 

“Yeah, okay.” John sighed. “Look, if the water’s turned off just leave it like it is. I don’t want you messing it up more.” 

“Yeah, act like I’m the annoying useless roommate, you’re doing great, very convincing.” 

“Was that sarcasm?” 

“No—well, the annoying roommate part, but—” 

“Nah, that part sounded real enough.” 

“Lucky for you I’m just as cute as I am annoying. Possibly moreso.” 

“Don’t count on it,” said Angelica. 

“Shut up!” Alexander hissed. “Not you. Angelica.” 

“Lucky.” He could hear John smiling. 

“But you really are doing great at this,” Alexander added. “And you’re doing okay, right? Tell me I don’t need to worry, because you know if left to my own devices that’s all I can do.” 

“Yeah, no, it’ll be fine,” said John. “No need to freak out any more than I’m sure you already have. Now get everything dried off as best you can, I guess.” 

“Correct answer, good job, didn’t even need prompting. Lucky us this imaginary pipe burst in the kitchen. But now I’m going to be without water for however long it takes you to get home.” 

“Yeah, well, suck it up,” said John. 

"Okay." Alexander smirked. John evidently ignored him. 

“I’ll be back in like twenty-four hours, you’ll live.” 

“Well, I’m looking forward to that even more now. And it’s more like thirty.” 

“Oh, shut up. You’re very smart—” 

“And attractive—” 

“—I’m sure you can manage for a day. If all else fails, just crash at Herc’s place.” 

“Yeah, yeah. And I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“You’re still coming to get me, right?” 

“Of course,” said Alexander. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. All you have to do is get on and off the plane.” 

“I will.” 

“I know.” He gripped the phone a little tighter. “Listen—I love you so much, okay? And you’re going to get out of that house and out of that state and away from your dad, and by tomorrow night you’ll be back here and it’ll all be okay.” 

“I know.” John sounded choked up again. That wasn’t good, if his father was still standing there. 

“I’m going to meet you at the airport and do, like, the slow-motion rom-com run, and then I’m going to take you home and kiss every freckle on your cute face.” Angelica pretended to throw up. Alexander planted a kick directly into the center of the back of her seat, and she reached back to smack his leg. 

“Looking forward to it.” He heard a smile. Okay. That was enough. “I’ll see you then.” 

“See you tomorrow. Text me when you get your phone back.” 

“Sure. Bye.” 

“Bye.” He let John hang up first and let the call flicker from view. 

“Is that what you guys are like all the time now?” said Angelica from the front seat. “The fucking Care Bears?” 

“It’s a stressful fucking week, Ange,” Alexander snapped, suddenly very tired, “lay off.” 

“Yeah, okay. Sorry.” The car moved along in silence for a couple of moments. Then Eliza reached over to tap Alexander’s shoulder. He looked up. 

“Um,” she said. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s up with the, you know—” 

“The fake story about the pipe?” said Alex, just a touch bitter. “Me calling myself his roommate?” 

“…Yeah.” 

“His dad is—mm, that’s their business, I won’t get too much into it, but let’s just say he’s generally a shitty human being on a lot of levels.” Alexander smiled thinly. “So John’s not out to his family, so officially I live with him as his roommate, and as just his roommate I needed one hell of a good reason to be calling his dad’s house on a holiday.” 

“Oh.” Eliza made a sad, sympathetic face. “I’m sorry. That sucks.” Alexander shrugged. 

“It’s what we live with.” He turned away, leaned his head against the window and, for once, was quiet. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am learning to love buffer chapters.
> 
> Just in case this is my very last fic chapter of the year 2k15, thank you so much to everyone who has read, kudo'ed, and or commented on any of my stuff this year. It's been a heck of a year and I love you all.
> 
> 2016 will still find me on tumblr @justkatherinetheokay and also my main blog which is still mostly hamilton (+ star wars rn) @tobyzieglerintraining


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back at the ranch (plantation)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I'm not sure about this chapter. Mostly because it's 1:30 AM and I've written a solid half of this in the past hour and a half, while already sleep deprived after just one day of classes. Sooo if parts of this flow as poorly as I'm afraid they're going to, that's why. (Happy spring semester to me! And anyone else who just started today. Yesterday now. Whatever)
> 
> Also, the reason this one took so long is I had the whole next chapter written already, but I felt like I needed this one as a bridge instead of just jumping from one thing to the next. Except then I got distracted by a different, much fluffier au I'm still fleshing out featuring what's generally a much less fluffy ship than this one, and then this turned really unhappy, which wasn't quite the plan, but here we are. I promise the next chapter is mostly funny fluff! Mostly. And the parts that aren't cute (spoilers) have absolutely 0 Henry Laurens Sr., so everything will be okay. 
> 
> Uh yeah there's like a lot of emotional manipulation and negativity in this one, plus a whole nother panic attack, so, whee.
> 
> Also more Star Wars, because over the rest of my winter break I rewatched (almost) both trilogies with my own dad (who is good and kind and nerdy and in no important way terrible at all, luckily for me) and I have a lot of feelings

  


“See you tomorrow. Text me when you get your phone back.” No guarantees on when _that_ would be. 

“Sure,” said John, and would have said more, but—well, he would have said more the whole conversation, except his father was still standing right there, watching him, eyes suspicious. “…Bye.” 

“Bye.” John waited for the click that would signal Alex hanging up, but none came, so after a moment he hung up the phone himself. 

“How did your roommate get this number?” his father asked. His tone was no more than conversational, but John knew him well enough to tense up. 

“In case there’s an emergency,” he replied. It was the truth. This wasn’t really the kind of emergency Alexander had been worried about when he asked for it (not that he’d said it outright)—that kind would place John up there in New York, preferably alive and already admitted to the hospital’s psych ward by the time anyone got around to actually calling Henry—but what he had made up would definitely qualify in Henry’s book. John hoped. 

“Is this really the kind of emergency that requires him to call my home phone?” Okay, so apparently it didn’t. 

“Well,” said John, “it wouldn’t have been if I’d had my own phone with me.” It was a risk, and not even really a calculated one, but his father didn’t immediately lash out, so for that John felt safe in thinking it had paid off just a little. The only outward sign of his father’s displeasure was in a slightly more pronounced set to his jaw, one that did spell trouble if John didn’t tread carefully. 

“I suppose,” was all Henry said to that. 

“You know, it’s kind of important, safety-wise, that I have my phone,” John added, willing to test these waters further. “For everyone, not just people in this house.” 

“Evidently not.” 

“…So can I have my phone back, then?” John asked, and quickly corrected himself to—“ _May_ I?” before his father could. 

“Evidently,” Henry repeated, “it’s _not_ such a safety hazard. So no, Jack—” 

“Any other day—” 

“What was that?” 

“I—I said, any other day,” said John, “any other day it would have been—” 

“Any other day we wouldn’t have had this problem, would we?” said Henry. “As long as you’re under my roof, you abide by my rules. That’s always been the deal.” John ground his teeth in silence for a moment. Then, in what was _definitely_ a dangerous move, he opened his mouth again. 

“Shouldn’t the punishment fit the crime?” he asked. “That—the confrontation—me yelling at Martha, that was because I was—I was just mad that they woke me up—” That was skating around a lie, but— 

“It seemed like it was more than that,” Henry replied, smoothly, running right over him. His voice had taken on a dangerous timbre. Reckless now, John still kept on talking, even knowing it was a bad move. 

“I mean, yeah, she also stole my phone, but—we’re adults, Dad, you could’ve let us work it out on our own.” 

“I’ll treat you like an adult when you learn to behave like one,” said Henry, his tone chilling. He suddenly seemed very tall. John always hated that he hadn’t quite managed to outgrow his father, at times like this more than ever; it was as if Henry loomed over him. “Until today you’ve spent your entire visit clinging to that little piece of silicon, Jack. Even on a _holiday._ It’s childish.” There was a pause, perhaps to see if John would dare talk back. He didn’t. He wouldn’t take the bait. He wasn’t even sure he had the breath to speak. “Today that childishness made your sister cry. _She’s_ not an adult, Jack, and as long as your juvenile behavior impacts her well-being, I see no reason to treat you any differently.” 

“But—” but he was right, John was being childish. John _was_ childish. Weak, helpless, unable to handle himself. It was pathetic, the way he had to rely on contact with Alexander just to get through the day. (Alexander. Alexander would be able to hold up in the face of this. He would stand up to Henry, not quail before him. John knew just as much as Alexander, had as much education, a lot of it more or less identical, could formulate an argument just as well under any other circumstances, and he _knew_ his father—and yet he couldn’t even manage that. He didn’t deserve Alexander. All he ever did was lean on him, when Alexander was the last person in the world who needed another burden to carry. Just another burden. He didn’t deserve—) 

“And,” his father finished, ignoring him, “I’ll be damned if I’ll hear you try to tell me again how to parent my children. _I_ have always looked out for all of your interests. You’ve proven before that’s not a responsibility you should be given.” John’s blood ran cold. As if he needed to be reminded. As if it was all right for his father to pull that out, as if he didn’t pass every day _knowing_ it was his fault— 

“Right,” he heard himself saying, his voice very small. “Of course. I’m sorry, Dad.” 

“Good,” said Henry. “You’ll get your phone back before you leave, of course.” John nodded. “I’m sure your brother would like to get back to whatever it was you two are watching up there.” 

“Yeah.” John nodded numbly, and turned without another word to head back upstairs. 

“Man, _finally!”_ said the other Henry, the one who _was_ shorter than John, when he fell back onto his end of the couch. “Can I start the next one yet?” John nodded wordlessly, grabbed the nearest blanket off the back of the adjacent chair, and proceeded to wrap himself up in it as tightly as possible. Henry didn’t seem to notice. That was for the best. Right now, John was just struggling to breathe normally again. 

It wasn’t every day his panic attacks got to be soundtracked to the Star Wars theme. He did his best to focus on that; it might pull him back. It did some, anyway. The credits had been rolling on Episode IV when the phone rang, and now the opening scroll for _Empire_ marched up the screen. John read each word, breathing in, then out, slowly, deliberately, in time with the music when the words disappeared above the starry backdrop, until the tension started to go out of his limbs and his head started to spiral back up towards reality. 

“How can you be _cold?”_ Henry shot him a weird look; he had finally noticed the blanket. John shrugged. Half of him wanted to say _you should know by now that’s just the effect Dad has on people,_ but his brother was young enough that he still seemed to get along fine with their father, and John shouldn’t hurt that—moreover, he was young enough that he might _tell_ Dad if John said something like that, and that wasn’t a risk he was willing to take right now. He had probably said too much this morning, already. He shivered slightly and pulled the blanket around him more tightly still. Henry frowned. “You gettin’ sick or something?” 

“Sick of you,” John managed to shoot back. Henry made an exaggerated hurt-feelings face, and John thought that would be the extent of it, until his little brother launched himself across the couch in a tackle. “Ow!” He managed to wrestle his arms out of the blankets enough to shove Henry away as he tried to flop into John’s lap. As soon as he had done it he regretted it, and pulled him back down on the pretense of messing up his hair. Henry swore at him. John clamped a hand over his mouth until his brother licked his palm. 

Another time he might have smeared it across Henry’s face, but in truth he wasn’t too upset about it right now—he was too preoccupied with remembering what it had been like to be a sixteen-year-old boy in this house, wondering just how touch-starved Henry had to be by now. Henry Senior had this _thing_ (that seemed to be a pretty common thing among old straight white men like him, to be fair) about physical affection being unmanly or some shit like that, so that the closest John had come to a hug from his father since early childhood was an arm around his shoulders for pictures. 

Until John got to college and met Alexander—and Lafayette, and Hercules, who weren’t _quite_ as overzealous in their physical displays of friendly affection, but still definitely more tactile with their friends than most—he had just about forgotten there was even such a thing as a platonic hug. (Not that the hugs from Alexander were even remotely platonic, possibly ever, but they had at least been labeled that way at first.) 

So now John hugged his brother close for as long as he could get away with under the guise of some kind of punishment, until after maybe thirty seconds Henry managed to squirm away. John smacked him in the arm in jest and sat back against his end of the couch, pulling his legs up to a more comfortable spot, feeling just slightly better. 

It was actually kind of enlightening to be able to rewatch the part with Han, Luke, and the tauntaun without Alexander having draped his own body haphazardly over John’s, talking into his ear over both dialogue and soundtrack about _how incredibly gay this entire fucking trilogy was._ (That was what had happened the last time John watched this movie. It had been a little distracting.) Now, watching it unencumbered, he could see for himself just how right Alexander was. 

On the other hand, if he closed his eyes he could actually conjure up Alexander’s face, which was infinitely better. It probably was pathetic, sure, and all kinds of unhealthily codependent, but he was _comforting,_ damn it. _Twenty-four hours,_ twenty-four hours and John would be on a plane back to New York—out of the house, out of South Carolina, away from his dad. What Alexander had said. 

The adrenaline was fading again; this round had been even worse than this morning, and coming out of it John honestly felt like he had run a marathon. 

_“No,”_ said Darth Vader some time later, _“I am your father,”_ and even though John had seen it before, heard it before—who the hell hadn’t grown up knowing it?—today he found he felt Luke’s anguished scream a lot harder. 

The next time he opened his eyes, Martha was shaking his shoulder and telling him it was time for dinner if he wanted it. 

“’M’asleep?” John mumbled, sitting up and looking around. “How long’d I sleep?” 

“A couple hours,” said Martha. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Wha’d Dad—?” If anyone was going to mind, it would be Henry Senior, who had certain opinions (as he did on everything) on sleeping at times other than night. 

“Don’t worry,” Martha repeated. “Dad says y’all probably don’t sleep enough up there anyway, what with your workload, so you might as well play catch-up while you’ve got the break.” For a moment it was like John’s whole body reeled on the edge of a precipice as he tried to parse that—did she know something, _who did she mean by ‘y’all’_ —until it sorted itself out and he realized she probably just meant college students as a whole, or even just John himself, and it was fine, everything was fine, he was safe(ish). It was okay. Okay. 

“Okay,” he said out loud. “Just give me a minute, I’ll be right down.” Martha nodded, satisfied, and left him alone in the darkened room to watch the DVD player logo screensaver bounce around the flatscreen for a minute. Instinctively he reached for his phone, wondering what time it was, but again—of course. John sighed. 

Dinner. He _should_ eat dinner—his stomach growled as he considered it—and, yeah, he could manage an hour or so. Objectively, he knew, today could have been a hell of a lot worse. In the grand scheme of things he was actually doing pretty well. 

In context, though, it still didn’t feel great. But, John reasoned, dinner couldn’t be _bad_ , not with his siblings around—Thanksgiving dinner itself had been fine, this should be nothing—and even if not, it was less than twenty-four hours right now. 

He could get through this just fine. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Imperial March playing in the background, probably)  
> Henry Laurens: I raised all my children just fine.  
> Alexander Hamilton: You fucked up my boyfriend is what you did. Look at him. He's got anxiety.  
> Alexander Hamilton: And major depression, and low self-esteem, and a guilt complex, and you know what, I'm just gonna fight you. Right now. Let's fucking go
> 
> I know I just let slip up in the top notes that I have the next chapter written already, but it's almost 2 AM by now and I'm really tired so I'm going to post it tomorrow. For now, rest assured that John is right and he really is going to get through it and be okay? Sorry to leave off here! I hope you've enjoyed this generally unpleasant chapter anyway ahhhhhh
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, and I'm still on tumblr as the usual suspects


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday, finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY
> 
> I had a funny note on this when it was a draft before but then I changed things and forgot it so
> 
> ft. double or maybe triple contractions, somewhat nsfw flirting, and somehow spoilers for season 2 of House of Cards? I'm not totally sure how we got here but here we are so like if you're not up to date on that (somehow) and care

  


Saturday

  


Small Fragile Tropical Flower 

  


Today 8:02 AM 

(I have my phone back) 

(I’m sorry everything in my life sucks) 

(Yours would probably be better if you were dating a Schuyler sister or smth) 

(tbh) 

  


Today 10:09 AM 

_(Oh hi sorry I was sleeping)_

(It’s ten am) 

(Who are you and what have you done with Alexander) 

_(Ha)_

_(Yay phone!)_

_(Aw it’s not your fault)_

_(And no it def would not)_

(nnnnnnn) 

(It would be easier) 

_(Easier is not better)_

(And god knows you never miss a chance to try and prove that) 

_(Rude)_

_(But in all seriousness, babe, it’s not your fault)_

_(So quit beating yourself up)_

(Tall order) 

_( :( )_

_(Wait hang on am I not a thing in your life)_

_(I don’t suck)_

(Well actually) 

_(ok yeah tru)_

_( ;) )_

_(HEY look on the bright side I’ll see u in like)_

_(6 hours)_

(Yeah :) ) 

_(You all packed and ready and stuff?)_

(Packed no, been ready since before I left nyc, stuff… ?) 

_(Well get your shit together kiddo time’s a wastin)_

(What) 

(Who are you) 

_(… Angelica’s mom apparently)_

_(What do you want for dinner when u get in?)_

(Wow you really are becoming a mom) 

_(A hot mom tho)_

(Your kid’s name must be Stacy) 

_( ;) )_

(I’ve waited for so long) 

_(Yeah ok but what do you want for dinner)_

(Hmm) 

(Hold on gotta change your contact name again) 

  


Stacy’s Mom 

  


Today 10:17 AM 

_(OH MY GOD)_

_(YOU DONT EVEN LIKE WOMEN)_

_(FOR YOU THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A MILF)_

(True) 

(And I want macaroni :P) 

_(GOD DAMN IT)_

_(You’re getting thai)_

(That works) 

_(ASSHOLE)_

(And here I thought I was getting Caribbean asshole ;) ) 

_(JOHN)_

_(HOLY FUCK)_

  


Today 10:31 AM 

(Uhhhhh so did you die or what) 

_(NO BUT MY PHONE KEELED OVER FROM SHOCK)_

(Was it clutching its pearls) 

_(MY SWEET INNOCENT PHONE)_

_(YOU HAVE BESMIRCHED IT)_

_(YOU WITH YOUR VILE INSINUATIONS OF THE VERY BASEST OF SEXUAL BEHAVIORS)_

(Alexander “the United States Legislature can eat my ass” Hamilton, everybody) 

_(LORDY ME HOW SHALL I GO ON NOW THAT MY POOR EYES HAVE SEEN WHAT THEYVE SEEN)_

(lol) 

_(Is the fake Southern accent coming through again without the actual sound of my voice)_

(Oh is that what’s going on here) 

(Honey your fake Southern accent is shit I would know) 

_(wow fuck you)_

(ok) 

_(MAYBE THATS THE POINT)_

(It’s not even fake Southern it’s like fake Ainsley Hayes meets Frank Underwood) 

_(Who are both from the South)_

(True) 

(It’s just that I get the feeling those are the only Southern accents you’ve heard, ever) 

(Despite getting into fights with Thomas on a regular basis) 

(And literally living with me) 

_(Yeah yeah)_

_(I relate to Frank Underwood u kno)_

(I do know) 

(It scares me) 

_(PLS I’m not going to shove anyone in front of any trains or anything)_

_(I am just also bisexual and ambitious and I hate everyone)_

_(Except u)_

_(And a few other people I guess)_

_(Although consider this: speaking of Tommy J, what if we were in the subway and)_

(STOP) 

_(he just happened to be standing)_

(I need plausible deniability) 

_(A little toooooo close)_

_(Sup NSA)_

(tbh of all the people I know you might be the most likely to have your phone tracked and shit) 

(And I know senators) 

_(John Laurens, that may be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me)_

( <3) 

  


“Jack?” Yeah, he was right back to leaning on Alexander, and it was still pathetic, but god knew there was a _reason_ why he did it to begin with: this was the least panicky John had felt in the last thirty-six hours, and just in time, too, now that Martha was standing in his doorway. John looked up, shutting off his phone and pocketing it. 

“You do know y’all’re the only ones that still call me that, right?” said John. She shrugged. 

“Yeah. Old habits.” 

“Sure.” He shut his suitcase and leaned on it to zip. “What’s up?” 

“I don’t know.” Martha shrugged. “Just wanted to talk, I guess. Can I come in?” 

“Sure.” John leaned on his suitcase until it would zip, then swung it down off his bed to clear a space. Martha came in to perch on the edge of the mattress beside him. 

“Hey,” she said, “you got your phone back.” John shrugged. “That was some bullshit, him takin’ it,” she added, startling him—“Ella and I both thought so. I mean, you shouldn’t’ve yelled, but you were right that you’re an adult. Dad oughta treat you like one.” 

“Yeah,” was all John had to say to that, after Henry had left it so hearing that only made his stomach twist. “I guess. Doesn’t matter now.” Martha shrugged back. “Aside from that, what’s up?” John asked again. 

“Dunno. I was just thinkin’.” She looked down, then back up at him sadly. “I miss sweet potato pie, you know?” _Sweet-potato pie_ wasn’t code between them, exactly, but John caught her meaning immediately. He pulled his legs up to the bed to sit Indian-style—cross-legged, _cross-legged,_ calling it Indian-style’s racist, John, look at the bullshit this fucking plantation’s bringing out in you—and sighed. 

“Yeah,” he said, “I miss Mom too.” 

“Did we ever have a real Thanksgiving?” Martha wondered aloud. 

“Wha’d’you mean?” 

“I mean…” she shrugged. “’Cause, you know, first Mom died, then things started gettin’ better, I thought, but then you and Dad stopped gettin’ along so well, since Jemmy…” John’s hand clenched on his comforter of its own accord, and he looked away sharply. “Hey.” Martha set her own hand on his arm. “Don’t you be like that, it wasn’t your fault.” 

“Says you.” 

“Says everyone. Even if you could be everywhere at once, there wasn’t anything _anyone_ could’ve done, Jack. It’s not on you.” 

“Tell that to Dad.” 

“Daddy doesn’t blame you,” Martha insisted. “He doesn’t.” (He did. He’d brought it up yesterday, hadn’t he?) “He _misses_ you.” (He missed having total control over him.) “It hurts him, too, when you only show up for holidays, and then you’re all moody.” 

“Well, I’m sorry it hurts _you,”_ said John. Martha sighed, shaking her head. 

“I still don’t get why you’re always so mad at him,” she said. 

“Yeah, well.” Nor could she. Nor should she. Nor, dear sweet Jesus, would she. 

“Guess I’ve never asked, though,” she mused. Oh god. “Hey, Jack, why’re you always so mad at Dad?” John stood up. 

“Yeah,” he said. “So. Wanna help me carry my shit to the car?” Martha’s eyes narrowed. 

“You’re not leavin’ til noon,” she said pointedly. “Jack—” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he told her flatly. “Okay?” 

“Okay.” But Martha hesitated. “Hey, look, um—you know if you ever _do_ want to talk, it’s okay to tell me anything?” 

“Right,” said John, not even remotely trying to sound like he believed her, or was considering it. “Sure.” 

“Like—I’m not a kid, you know,” she went on. “I’m in college, Jack. John. I’m not totally ignorant anymore. Just—anything, about, y’know, life, I’d listen.” John froze; was she insinuating what he thought she was? 

Oh, god, she probably was. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready. 

“And,” Martha added, “I wouldn’t tell Dad. Promise.” Well. That all was nowhere near as subtle as she had probably hoped, and only half as reassuring. 

“…Yeah,” said John, very uncomfortably, after a long pause. He was _so_ not prepared to have this conversation yet. Maybe someday; just not right now. “Right. I’ll—I’ll keep that in mind.” 

And yet: yet. Until right here, right now, John had gone through life privately intending never to come out to any of his immediate relatives, ever. He had never really planned out how exactly that elaborate lifelong deception would _work_ —used to be he figured he wouldn’t have to keep it up too much longer, anyhow, and now… Now it seemed to him that was the kind of thing Alexander would probably be better at, so John might just leave it to him to work out—but that was beside the point. And now. Now… Maybe. Martha stood, too, so they could just stand there awkwardly for a moment. 

“Hey,” said John again, “wanna help me carry my shit to the car?” His sister rolled her eyes. 

“Sure.” 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just about done, probably like one or two more chapters and then I'll _finally_ get to hit the complete button. (And let me tell you, I'm pretty psyched for that; I don't think I've actually finished something in bordering on literally years.) And get back to work on drunk-texting au. And also my garbage fluff au. And maybe X-Men fic, who even knows? (I assure you my intentions are never anything but good)
> 
> Comments and kudos are my life's blood. None of the tumblr info has changed but here it is again: @justkatherineokay, aka the same handle as this one, is my somewhat inactive fic-writing blog, and @tobyzieglerintraining is the main blog I actually use.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally gets to leave South Carolina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I lied and actually this isn't the penultimate chapter, there's going to be 2 more after this, but only because this chapter got so long I decided to cut it in half. Well, not quite in half, because this chapter's still the longest one yet and the next one will be pretty short, but narratively I still want them separate. So there.

  


The brief ride into Charleston was quiet, for the most part. Not wanting to do anything to provoke further ire from his father, John left his phone in his pocket and stared out the window, watching the trees zip by. In the background, a relatively innocuous pop station that John suspected Ella had added to the presets played in place of whatever his father would have been listening to otherwise—maybe it was just a self-centered fantasy he’d come up with as another reason not to like the man, but for some reason John was certain that his father had kept it here instead of switching to Rush Limbaugh or something only to avoid another argument. 

If so, he supposed in a way that was kind of nice. Dishonest, but at least it was sort of respectful, maybe. 

“Thank you for coming down, Jack,” Henry said as he pulled off the freeway. “It was a pleasure to have you home, finally.” John double-took, not sure he’d heard correctly. 

“What?” 

“I’m glad you came home for Thanksgiving,” his father repeated. “I know your siblings are too.” 

“Oh,” said John. “Yeah, me too. It was—it was good to be home.” That was a lie, one that twisted his stomach to tell, but he had to. It was polite. 

His fingers twitched toward his phone, but he didn’t take it out. Not in front of his father. He didn’t want to provoke the annoyance, or provide him the satisfaction. 

“The time went too quickly,” said Henry. John nodded mutely. “But we’ll get you for longer at Christmas, of course.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Remind me, how long do you have off?” 

“Two weeks,” said John, and heaved an internal sigh of relief at how smoothly the lie came out. 

“Really?” said Henry. “When I checked your academic calendar, it said three.” Shit. Of course he would have checked. _Shit._

“Uh,” said John, frantically casting around for an excuse. “Yeah, well, that’s when school starts, but I’m, uh, I’m TA-ing for Professor Washington next semester and he wants me back early to… make sure everything gets set up.” He was back to TA-ing next semester, they had agreed on that a month ago, so _that_ part wasn’t a lie, and he was sure that if (when, now) he asked, Washington would come up with _something_ for him that week to legitimize it. The reality was that John wasn’t sure he could manage all three weeks down here instead of being able to spend at least one in the city with Alexander, and Alexander was probably even more worried about it than he was. 

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” said Henry. John shrugged. 

“Sorry. There wasn’t anything I could do.” 

“I just worry that if you only have two weeks at home, you won’t have much time to figure out what you’ll be doing next summer,” Henry continued. John frowned. 

“Next summer?” 

“Aren’t you coming home?” Henry asked pointedly. John blinked. 

“Uh.” He sure as hell hadn’t been planning on it, and didn’t know where his father would have gotten any different idea. Certainly not as early as November. 

“We didn’t get you last summer, so we had hoped—” 

_If Dad could stop using the royal We,_ John thought, _acting like it’s not just him—_ though maybe that wasn’t completely fair; Martha, at least, had made it clear she missed him too. 

“—We had hoped that we might get at least some of your time down here. I’m sure you’ll be busy establishing yourself up in Durham, of course, but—” _Oh._

“Dad, you know I’m applying to places other than Duke, right?” John immediately regretted cutting him off—that wasn’t generally a good idea. Too late. “I’ve got the grades and the scores for Columbia, I _think_ —” 

“You’ve spent four years at Columbia already,” Henry pointed out. 

“Yeah,” said John, “and I like it. I know the city, I _like_ the city, and I’ve already, as you say, established myself there to some degree. Plus, all my friends are up there—” 

“Ah, your _friends,”_ Henry grumbled, perhaps to himself, but John raised his eyebrows. 

“What about my friends?” 

“I’m just not sure they’re the best influence on you.” They reached the point where an exit curved toward the airport. 

“Really?” For all he was used to his father being disappointed by more or less his every move, John honestly couldn’t see what Henry could find to complain about in his friends. Most of them were similarly situated in life, and even if not (which was really just Alex), certainly set on a similar trajectory. Maybe that was the problem—did he think they were too liberal? He already knew John leaned far to his left, surely he couldn’t have expected— 

“Oh,” said his father, “it just seems to me you’re friends with a few too many artsy types.” John froze. Not just a matter of political leaning, then. 

“I’m not sure who or what you’re talking about,” he said carefully. That wasn’t true; he was absolutely certain that by _artsy types_ his father meant _flaming godless homosexuals,_ though the language he would use would probably be a lot worse. Not that the label was, technically speaking, accurate for any of those friends Henry had in mind—John was the only one of the bunch who was _actually_ gay, not that his father had any idea, and the irony tasted bitter in his mouth—but somehow he doubted that would actually matter here. “Almost all my friends are political science majors, just like me. Angelica, Aaron—” They weren't really _his_ friends, more Alexander's (even Aaron at this point), but at least he knew they, the rich kids from good families or whatever, were the ones his father most approved of. 

“That French kid…” _Really, Dad?_ For once, in this situation, John found himself not so much terrified as just _annoyed._

“Lafayette? Poli-sci, double-majoring in French. And Alex is a triple major, because apparently he doesn’t sleep—” (John would know) “—but unless you count econ and English as _arts_ —” 

“Isn’t that Mulligan kid in some kind of fashion program?” _Yes, Dad, he is, he wants to be a designer, and would you believe he’s actually the only straight one in the bunch—_

“Columbia’s a better school, Dad,” John said, instead of any of that. His father’s jaw set. “I’m sorry. I know Duke is important to you. It’s just—it’s better-ranked. More prestigious.” 

“And significantly more expensive, I imagine,” said Henry coolly. John frowned. 

“Not a _lot_ more, I don’t think…” Certainly no greater difference than the Laurens coffers could provide for. Unless that was meant to imply his father wouldn’t pay for him to go anywhere that wasn’t Duke, which, now that he thought of it, it probably was. He had already given up on Henry supporting him down any path other than law school, but if he was going to be _that_ strict about it—well, really John shouldn’t have been surprised at this point, but. _Fuck._ “It would be worth it for the prestige,” he added weakly, because his father might buy that. Maybe. 

“We’ll have time to discuss this in greater detail in a few weeks,” Henry told him, mouth a thin line of displeasure as he pulled off to the curb in front of departures. John really hadn’t planned to leave him angry—he knew from experience that in his absence it would only stew, and his arrival back in the South for Christmas would probably be worse than it already would have been, now. At this point, though, it was well beyond his control. 

“Well,” he said once he had gotten his stuff out of the car, “I’ll see you in December, Dad.” 

“Looking forward to it,” said Henry, still tight-lipped. His face softened a little as they stood there on the sidewalk, though. John had almost forgotten that sometimes his father actually looked like—well, like a father, looking at his son. “Good luck with your finals, Jack,” he said. “Make me proud.” 

“Yes, sir.” John shook his father’s hand as firmly as he could manage. 

“Have a safe flight,” Henry told him. Then he got back in the car and was gone, and with him, a heavy, intangible weight. John sighed, and wished he could say it was anything other than relief. 

He got through security and to the gate as fast as possible, the sooner to collapse into the first open chair he could find. 

  


Stacy’s Mom 

  


Today 2:51 PM 

(@ the airport) 

_(YAY)_

_(Is the plane there yet)_

(It’s sitting out there now, boarding in 20) 

_(Cool)_

_(How are you?)_

(Better) 

(How are you?) 

_(Doin dandy)_

(what) 

_( <3) _

_(Bored tbh)_

_(Been considering going to the airport like now and just sitting there for 3 hours until you get here)_

_(Nothing better to do)_

(TSA might think you were up to something) 

_(When am I not)_

(Uh huh) 

_(I mean I’d take a book or smth)_

(Yeah idk how much that would do to dispel their concerns) 

_(tru)_

(Ok I’m tired of this contact name I’m changing it back) 

_(Back to what exactly)_

_(John)_

  


<3 <3 <3 bae <3 <3 <3 

  


Today 2:53 PM 

_(John)_

_(Is it smol tropical flower again gdi)_

(Nah it’s just back to what it was before) 

(No chance the fam’s gonna see it) 

_(aw the one with the hearts?)_

(Yep) 

_(AWWW aren't we just sickeningly adorable)_

(You know it) 

_(SO now that you and more relevantly your phone are no longer within reach of prying eyes)_

(That metaphor was a clusterfuck) 

_(shhhhhhhh I know I know)_

_(ANYWAY I distinctly recall promising dick pics)_

(Alexander I am in a public space) 

_(Does that mean you don’t wanna see pictures of my pubic space)_

(OH MY GOD) 

  


Today 3:01 PM 

_(You still there…?)_

(Yes) 

(ok) 

(Deep breaths) 

_(lmao)_

(You FUCKER) 

(Was that revenge for the asshole thing) 

_(I mean not intentionally)_

_(It was a spur of the moment thing)_

_(Saw the opportunity)_

_(But yeah, let’s go with that)_

(You SUCK) 

_(Only 4 u)_

_( ;) )_

(  <3 ) 

_( <3 ) _

_(So do u want the dick pics or nah)_

(I’m like 3 hrs away from the real thing I think I’ll pass on the pixels) 

_( :D )_

_(I shall await your arrival with bated breath)_

(You mean you weren’t already? :( ) 

_(Oh bby my breath has been bated since Wednesday)_

_(And my loins girded)_

_(They miss you)_

_(My loins and my breath both)_

_(Mostly my loins)_

(You are the WORST) 

(Alex I’m getting on a plane in 5 minutes) 

_(What’s your point)_

(Are you really gonna waste that precious time on dirty jokes) 

_(Since when does that qualify as wasting time)_

_(I’ll have you know my dirty jokes are of the highest caliber)_

_(And my enormous capacity for making them is, proportionally speaking, second in scope only to my dick)_

(Just went straight for that one huh) 

_(Excuse u I have never gone STR8 for anything in my life)_

(But you weren’t gonna just let it go on bi) 

_(OMG)_

_(JOHN)_

_(I LOVE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW)_

(  <3 :D <3 ) 

_(I love you so much always)_

_(Would you rather I spent the time composing sappy poems to your freckles)_

_(Cause I can do that instead)_

(Don’t you have to be drunk to do that) 

_(History would suggest so)_

(Tell me you’re not drunk rn we need you to be able to drive) 

(Tho it would explain half the texts you’ve sent in the past 20 minutes) 

_(Nah those are hormones not alcohol)_

(I’ll say) 

_(I’m good just antsy)_

_(Why don’t we have teleportation yet it’s 2015 like jesus fuck America I should be able to push a button and have my bf HERE)_

(Well you’re a smart guy maybe you should get on that) 

_(Not rly my department)_

_(Probably Doc Franklin cracked teleportation years ago and is just holding out on us)_

(Probably) 

(Boarding now brb) 

_(ok)_

  


Henry Laurens 

  


(Today 3:21 PM) 

(All boarded and seated.) 

_(Good. Let me know when you land. – H.L.)_

  


<3 <3 <3 bae <3 <3 <3 

  


Today 3:22 PM 

(Ok seated) 

_(What seat)_

(11A) 

_(WINDOW SEAT NICE)_

_(Take pictures?)_

(Sure) 

_(YAY)_

  


Thing 1 

  


Today 3:25 PM 

_(JAAACK ur plane is taking off abt now right)_

_(well HAVE A SAFE FLIGHT I’M GONNA MISS U BYYYEEEEEE)_

(Got a few more minutes til takeoff. Thanks :) I’ll miss you too, it was nice to see you all) 

_(U SHOULD CALL ME U NEVER CALL ME)_

_(For real tho I was srs abt the talking thing)_

_(We should def talk more)_

(Tell you what, I’ll try and call you next weekend) 

(Let me know if you need any advice on finals too) 

_(I’m a sophomore now Jack I think I can handle finals)_

(Uh I’m a senior and *I* can still barely handle finals so) 

_(Ok ok yeah I’ll let u know :) )_

_(But seriously. Talking.)_

_(Good healthy communication)_

_(Our family could really use more of that)_

_(Let’s work on it)_

_(You and me bro let’s fuckin do this)_

(Riiiiiiight) 

( :) ) 

(Text me when would be a good time to call you over the weekend ok) 

_(P much any time on the weekend is good except maybe not between like 1 and 11 AM)_

_(Because college)_

(I feel you) 

(Yo sis I gotta go, we’re taxiing) 

_(OK PLS FLY SAFE ILY <3 ) _

  


<3 <3 <3 bae <3 <3 <3 

  


Today 3:29 PM 

(idk what you’re so excited about it’s mostly gonna be the atlantic ocean) 

_(John you literally get to fly. In the air. Like a bird. In a machine made by humans. Humans can fly. How is this not amazing to you idgi)_

(I’m just desensitized) 

(Babe u know most of us had flown before age 17) 

_(FUCKIN RICH AMERICANS)_

(You do seem to be pretty good at that ;) ) 

_(TRUE)_

(Ok they just did the put your devices away announcement) 

(I have to go but I love you and I’ll see you soon) 

_(ok)_

_(I love you too and everything’s gonna be ok)_

_(I’ll be there)_

(  <3 ) 

_(And I’m gonna do the slow-mo rom com run)_

(TSA Hates Him! Local Man Does the Slow-Mo Rom Com Thing in Airports, Dies) 

_(Yeah ok well I’ll be doing it on the inside)_

(same) 

_(Have a safe flight)_

_(See u on the other side)_

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (so close so close so close I can taste completion it is Within My Grasp)
> 
> Kudos and comments (oh, man, comments, I swear I try to respond to all of them I really do) always make my day a little brighter so please, don't hold back! And I can still be found on tumblr @tobyzieglerintraining :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long-awaited (well, ok, 3-days-awaited) reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean I _could_ have just kept this part of the last chapter since I had it all written already, but, you know, narrative. So this is a short one.
> 
> So anyway here's Alex

  


<3 <3 <3 bae <3 <3 <3 

  


Today 5:27 PM 

(The eagle has landed) 

_(ok GOOD I’ve been standing in this dumb baggage claim for 10 minutes)_

_(aahhhhhhh)_

( :) I’ll be there soon pls try not to explode) 

_(AAAAHHHHHHH)_

(It would be hell to clean up PLUS I wanna see youuuuuu) 

_(ME TOO)_

_(I haven’t hugged u in 3 days do you know how long that is)_

(Well) 

_(I RECOGNIZE IT’S 3 DAYS I KNOW ANSWERED MY OWN QUESTION IN THE SAME SENTENCE THAT’S NOT THE POINT)_

_(*i answered)_

_(I’m gonna hug you SO HARD was the point)_

(haha and then what) 

( ;) ) 

_(lol fuck you)_

(Well that was pretty much the answer I was looking for I mean) 

_(ASSHOLE)_

(That would be where) 

_(JOHNNNNNN)_

_(Are you off the plane yet)_

(Almost) 

(ok omw I’ll see you soon) 

_(YESSSSSSS)_

  


Henry Laurens 

  


Today 5:32 PM 

(Landed. Flight was fine.) 

_(Do you have a ride to your apartment? –H.L.)_

(Alex is coming to get me.) 

_(Good. Get back safe. We were glad to have you home. –H.L.)_

(Me too. Thanks for everything.) 

  


It didn’t _actually_ hurt to type, not physically, at least, but it might as well have. 

John cast his gaze around as he finally reached the hall where the terminal became the baggage claim, stomach churning, desperate to find Alexander as soon as possible. It didn’t take long at all to catch sight of him; he was practically bouncing up and down on his toes, standing so close to the terminal’s exit that the TSA guy next to it was eyeing him nervously. He probably didn’t _want_ to be the one to tackle the overexcited guy here to greet his whoever, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it. So probably Alexander wouldn’t push the limit any further. Probably. 

Regardless, best John should get to him before he could. The distance closed quickly between them as he sped up, and almost before he realized it he had let go of his suitcase and was clutching the back of Alexander’s sweatshirt, hunched over so he could bury his face in his shorter boyfriend’s shoulder. Alexander pressed kisses down his hairline, his temple, his cheek, then pushed them apart—John clung to him just a few seconds longer—to hold him at arm’s length and look him up and down, concern and appreciation more or less equal in his eyes. 

“Baby, you look _exhausted,”_ was apparently the first thing he was going to say to John right now. John rolled his eyes, but he grinned. 

“Aw, pot…” he teased, “the kettle missed you too.” Alexander grinned back, shaking his head, eyes bright despite the dark circles in question. 

“Come here, asshole.” He ran his hands up John’s shoulders to lace his fingers at the nape of his neck and pull him back in. John kissed him, slow and sweet, savoring both his boyfriend’s mouth and the quiet joy of being back in New York, where two guys could kiss in the airport and if anyone gave a shit at all they knew they’d be too much in the minority to say or do anything dickish. 

When they drew apart again it was slow and reluctant for a moment. Then Alexander seemed to shake himself out of it. 

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.” 

Home. When Martha and then their father had kept talking about it earlier, when _home_ meant Mepkin, the word had sounded ominous, but when Alexander said it about their tiny off-campus apartment it sounded the way John was fairly certain _home_ was supposed to sound. Like a place he actually looked forward to being. 

“You don’t have a checked bag, right?” Alexander asked. “Nothing we’re forgetting?” John considered pointing out that he was being a mother hen—not that it was unusual—but decided he would rather save the time it would take to get the joke out and use it to get home as fast as possible. 

“Nope.” 

“Cool. Let’s get this show on the road.” Alexander grabbed the suitcase handle before John could, laced the fingers of his other hand through John’s, and started off toward the airport exit. 

“Are we headed straight home, or?” 

“Straight home?” Alexander frowned, but when John glanced at him there was a hint of mirth in the quirk of his mouth, and he groaned. “Babe, I don’t think either one of us has ever been headed _straight_ anywhere.” 

“You know you already made that joke once today.” 

“Yeah, well, as a wise man said, I couldn’t just let it pass me _bi_ —” He grinned up at John, who couldn’t (didn’t want to) help grinning back. 

“Well, I’m glad you appreciate my wisdom,” he said. “But seriously, do we have to stop anywhere, or—?” 

“I got food already,” said Alexander. “It’s in the car.” 

“Won’t it get cold?” 

“That’s what the microwave’s for.” Alexander squeezed his hand, lacing their fingers together more tightly. “And I thought we could just skip the table and eat it in bed, maybe watch something on a laptop, and, you know—” he bumped his hip against John’s, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Yeah…” John sighed, stomach twisting with the realization that he was going to have to disappoint Alexander. “Netflix and chill’s gonna have to be literal tonight, okay? I know I’m fun on the outside right now, but I still kinda feel like shit.” 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Alexander said quickly. He probably sounded a lot less crestfallen in real life than John’s brain interpreted, but there wasn’t much he could do to tell. 

“I’m sorry. I just—” 

“No, no, don’t be sorry, you don’t need to—it’s whatever you want. Tonight and forever.” 

“Nah, but it’s not, it’s an equal partnership, what you want matters too, and I’ve been saying stuff—” 

“Nuh-uh.” Alexander slowed to look at him more seriously. “Fuck jokes, okay? Even if there’d been outright promises I’d be wrong to hold you to them, and I wouldn’t.” He squeezed John’s hand again. “I’m just glad to have you home.” 

“So am I. Glad to be—you know what I mean.” John forced the tension from his shoulders. It was okay. He was okay. 

“Yeah.” They reached the carpark; Alexander dropped his hand to fumble for the car keys. They jingled loudly in the echo-y concrete maze. “Hey, any chance you feel okay enough to drive?” 

John hesitated: Alexander hated driving in the city, he knew, having learned back in St. Croix on mostly dirt roads, but on the other hand John was exhausted both physically and emotionally, and—well, he’d managed to survive having to drive in a lot worse mental state before, and certainly no worse off, he thought now, than he’d been when he was driving every day for the last year of high school, but—no, he still wasn’t necessarily in a place where he’d put someone in the same behind the wheel of a giant metal death machine. 

“It’s okay if you can’t,” said Alexander, because apparently he’d gone too long without answering the question. “I’m fine to drive. Just, you know, it’s your car…” 

“Will you?” John asked. “Please? I’m sorry, just…” 

“Yeah, of course. No need to apologize, it’s fine.” They reached John’s tiny, slightly battered car, and Alexander popped the trunk so John could heft his suitcase and backpack into it. He started to go around to the passenger’s side, but Alexander grabbed at his arm and pulled him back into a tight hug, pressing his face into his chest. 

“Hey…” John ran a hand down Alexander’s hair where it was drawn back from his hairline into the usual ponytail. “You okay?” This half a week had to have been hard on Alexander, too, he realized; another layer of guilt fell onto the growing pile, for not having really considered it until now. John knew full well he wasn’t the only one in this relationship who got a little fucked in the head sometimes, as Alexander had put it on more than one occasion, and of the many _(many)_ things that regularly caused Alexander anxiety, John and John’s mental health topped the list. So now John kissed his forehead and held him tight, tucking Alexander’s head against his shoulder, content to stay there for a few moments just breathing together as their heartbeats aligned. 

“Yeah, I just missed you,” Alexander said finally (a little anticlimactically), squeezed his ribs so tight he could barely breathe for a second, then pulled away. He looked up, meeting John’s eyes, his so gentle it almost hurt to look back. “Let’s go home.” 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so apparently I'm combining roughly musical!appearances with roughly historical!height difference here but whatever it's my AU I do what I want
> 
> Anyway. ONE TO GO. I definitely debated just making this the last chapter, because happy endings, but I mean the next chapter (the real last chapter) can have a happy ending too once we get through the Frank Discussion of Mental Health Problems that is most of what I have at the moment. So, we'll be wrapping up with that sometime soon!
> 
> I remain @tobyzieglerintraining, and I continue to live on... well, yogurt, potato chips, and terrible dining hall pasta, mostly, but also kudos and comments. Thanks for sticking with me and our boys :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and a lot of frank discussion of mental illness and coping mechanisms and codependency, but mostly fluff, really, I swear. Also, a return to Alex POV.
> 
> Last chapter, finally! I have no idea how this chapter alone got to like 4k, but I did make a joke at some point in the notes on something somewhere about how everything I write has to be like 20k, so I guess this was pretty much inevitable and here we are

  


“I’m gonna shower,” said John pretty much as soon as they were in the door. “Got to wash the South off before it settles.” 

“Okay.” They paused in the entry for a second, though, once they had locked the door behind them (it wasn’t like they were leaving the apartment again tonight) and shucked their jackets off, just looking at each other. “Hey,” said Alexander, “come here,” and he pulled John down for another kiss. “Man, I missed you,” he said into his mouth. 

“It was like three days,” John protested, but he pulled him tight against his chest for a moment, hands lacing into Alexander’s hair. (That felt _good,_ and he knew John knew it.) Then, much too soon, he pulled back, pushing Alexander away. Alexander pouted; John rolled his eyes. “Don’t want to get the South all over you, too.” Alexander snorted. 

“Yeah, okay. You go shower, I’ll deal with the food.” 

“Cool.” John pressed a smacking kiss to his cheek before he headed for the bathroom, already stripping off his shirt as he went. _That_ was a sight Alexander had missed, even if he only got it from the back—not that there was anything wrong with the back, any of it. Just the opposite, really. 

John was back. John was safe. John was home. _John was home._

Once he heard the shower come on he pulled himself out of the reverie and went to dish out and heat up the food so he could set up the whole bed thing: turning on the laptop, opening Netflix, and changing into sweatpants, not necessarily in that order. By the time John came back out of the bathroom and into their room to change, Alexander was settled, sitting cross-legged against the pillows on his usual side of the bed, scrolling through his list. 

“Hey,” he said, looking up to watch appreciatively as John let his towel fall to the floor and walked across the room naked to get to his pajamas. 

“My eyes are up here,” John remarked, not that Alexander could have met them with John facing away. 

“Was I supposed to be looking at your eyes?” he asked, not even bothering to try. 

“It’s more polite than just ogling my ass, don’t you think?” John replied dryly, tugging the pants up to cover what Alexander had been watching, anyway. Not that his posterior didn’t still look fantastic; it was just that now it was hidden behind navy flannel covered in green sea turtles. Alexander had pretty much exhausted all his turtle jokes after a solid year of sleeping next to those pants, but another night he might have tried for more. Right now he was too invested in the prospect of cuddling, and also in making and keeping John as happy as humanly possible. 

“Since when do I care about being polite?” he asked as John pulled on a t-shirt and finally came over towards the bed. 

“Fair point.” He flopped down onto his own pillows and shifted over so they were sitting a little closer. “Hi.” 

“Hey.” Alexander reached over to wind his arms around John’s shoulders and pull him in close, hugging him tight again. John wrapped his arms around Alexander’s waist and for a minute or two they just sat there, pressed together, eyes closed, finally growing warm again. Then, of course, John’s stomach growled, breaking the spell. Alexander released his hold to reach over and grab a bowl of pad thai off his bedside table, setting it in John’s emptied hands. “Eat.” 

“Okay, okay.” John grinned at him, but his smile turned to doubt when Alexander set a plate of tofu and another of spring rolls, both with their little plastic cups of the associated sauces, on the blanket between them. “Are you sure you want to eat this in bed?” 

“Do you want to move?” Alexander asked pointedly. John sighed. 

“No,” he said, “not even a little, and I’m _starving,_ obviously, but Alex, I swear to god, if we get peanut sauce on the sheets _you’re_ doing the laundry.” 

“Absolutely worth it,” Alexander pronounced, which got John to laugh. “So what do you want to watch?” 

“Mm.” He had managed to time the question with John taking a huge first bite of his pad thai, so it took a moment before he got a response. “What are my options?” 

“Whatever you want,” said Alexander. “I thought probably nothing unhappy, right?” 

“Yeah…” John leaned down to rest his chin on Alexander’s shoulder, looking at the computer screen. “Parks and Rec.” 

“Which episode?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” John kissed his cheek before he turned back to his food. “They’re all good.” 

“’Kay.” Alexander just let the next episode start wherever he had last left off and grabbed his own dinner before he settled in more firmly, pulling his knees up to curl against John’s side and eat while the show played. 

Once all the food was eaten (and with no spills whatsoever, thank you very much) Alexander took the plates to the kitchen to rinse them. He returned to find John had shifted down under the blankets to lie halfway propped-up on his pillows. When Alexander climbed back into bed, pulling the blankets up over his own legs this time, John moved down to rest his head on Alexander’s thigh, arm draping loosely around his waist. 

“You all right?” Alexander let a hand skate across John’s shoulders, down his back. John nodded. 

“Yeah, I’m just _exhausted.”_ As if to prove the point, he yawned, then snuggled a bit closer, eyes on the computer. Alexander hadn’t really been paying attention for a while, but now he caught on again: Leslie was running for City Council, and this was the one with the ice rink, Gloria Estefan, and the secondhand embarrassment to end all secondhand embarrassment. 

They stayed like that through at least another episode, though Alexander’s focus drifted back to John again fairly quickly. It was nice to have him back in the bed, if for no reason (and there were a lot of reasons, many of them not immediately relevant) other than that somewhere, at some point, not that he’d even realized it until this week, Alexander had grown to hate sleeping alone. John was warm, and solid, and now he was _here,_ and the feeling of his heartbeat, pounding steadily through his ribs against Alexander’s leg as he ran his thumb in circles between John’s shoulders, was comforting. 

“Hey,” said John at some point, stretching against Alexander’s side. It gave him a jolt—he’d almost thought John was asleep. His face was still turned towards the screen, but he hadn’t moved in a while. 

“Huh?” He looked down. John looked up at him. 

“Hey, Alex, uh—can we talk about something?” That set off alarm bells that must have showed on his face, from the look on John’s. “It’s not bad,” he said quickly, sitting up, “I swear.” 

“Okay,” said Alexander slowly, reaching out and hitting the spacebar to pause the show, not that he’d really been paying attention anyway. “What’s up?” 

“I don’t know how to say this, really, but—” he took a deep breath—“babe, you know I’m not suicidal right now, right?” Alexander froze. 

“I—huh?” he managed. 

“It just seemed like you were kinda worried this weekend,” John explained. “Like, maybe more than you needed to be. So I figured I should let you know, I haven’t had, you know, regular suicidal thoughts or ideation or anything—” 

“Regular?” 

“I mean—” John sighed. “It still happens occasionally. But it’s not constant, is the thing. I can usually shout it down, or push through it, and it goes away. I haven’t been in a bad place for longer than a day or two at most, not in months.” 

“Oh,” said Alexander. He knew this conversation was one they should have, probably a lot more often than they did, but it always put him on edge—it was the only time he was ever genuinely afraid of saying the wrong thing, maybe because it was the only time he ever found himself at a loss for words. Or maybe it was the other way around. It was okay, though, he told himself: John was back. John was safe. “Uh. How many months?” John frowned. 

“…Eight or nine?” he said. “You were here, I know you _knew,_ even if you didn’t know the extent of it.” Alexander nodded. “But I got through it and I’ve been doing better. I mean, that’s not to say it won’t ever get bad again, but—point is, right now, I’m okay.” He paused. “I mean, I’m not _okay,_ not by normal standards or whatever, but I’m not at my worst right now, either.” 

“O—okay.” _You couldn’t have told me that_ before _you left for fucking South Carolina?_ Alexander wanted to say, but that would be neither kind nor productive. Nor fair, really. With anyone else that probably wouldn’t have stopped him, but this was John, and for him Alexander always thought twice. “Um—how _are_ you doing, then? With—you know.” 

“My personal cocktail of super-fun mental imbalances?” 

“…Yeah. I guess I probably should’ve asked before you left.” That would be a better way to put it. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” John grimaced. “Assuming the worst is probably safest in this case, unfortunately.” 

“Yeah.” Alexander shifted a little closer, and John took the cue to rearrange himself so he sat leaned against Alexander’s shoulder, with Alexander’s arm around his. “What _is_ going on in there?” He kissed the top of John’s head. John shrugged. 

“Well,” he said slowly, “being down there is still just, like, constant anxiety, and, uh—I had a full-blown panic attack for a while yesterday with the phone thing, and then my father being—himself—” Alexander tried not to go completely tense. “It got really bad for a few minutes, but it wasn't—I don’t know.” John shrugged. “Look, I know that all sounds bad, and it was, but that level of bad's just par for the course for South Carolina. Better than that, actually. I mean, it still sucked, it’s always gonna suck, but this time was kinda easier? I don’t know.” 

“Okay.” Alexander smoothed down one side of John’s curls with his free hand, and watched as his eyelashes fluttered closed for a few seconds. He hesitated for a moment, and almost didn’t say it, because it sounded way too therapist-y, but: “Any idea what was different?” 

“Dunno.” John shrugged, but it turned into snuggling a little closer against Alexander’s side. “I had you to talk to, mostly. When I did. Which…” he trailed off, forehead creasing slightly between his brows. Alexander smoothed that, too, with his thumb. 

“What?” 

“I shouldn’t have to rely on you,” John muttered, turning his face against the fabric of Alexander’s t-shirt so his already-quiet voice was muffled, though close enough that Alexander could still more or less make it out. “…fucks up my ability to interact with my family, and I shouldn’t need a crutch, don’t wanna be a burden…” 

“Isn’t your ability to interact with your family kind of inherently fucked up to begin with?” Alexander pointed out. John shrugged miserably. Maybe that hadn’t been the best response. “Hey.” He tapped his shoulder. No reaction. Alexander sighed. “And you’re not a burden,” he added. “You don’t have to believe me, but I’m going to keep telling you. You’re never a burden to me.” He wasn’t sure John actually said anything to that—just made an unhappy sound in the back of his throat. “I missed you too, remember?” Alexander reminded him. “I was glad to talk to you as much as I got to while we were apart. I wish it had been more.” He probably shouldn’t have phrased it that way, lest John take it and lump it in with his own guilt, but— 

“Mmph,” said John, shrugging noncommittally. Okay. Maybe it was okay. 

“And,” Alexander added, doing his best to tread carefully, “if you’re going to talk about crutches—I mean, come on. If it really was your leg that was hurting and not your brain, you wouldn’t be saying you shouldn’t need the crutch to support it, would you?” 

“No. Well...” John trailed off. After a second Alexander knew why, and rolled his eyes. 

“Okay, maybe _you_ would, but you’d still be wrong and everyone else would tell you so.” He paused, praying that hadn’t been a step too far, but John gave no indication he’d hurt him. “Remember the time Laf broke his leg? What then?” 

“Which time?” John asked dryly, if still a bit muffled. 

“Whichever. It doesn’t matter. The point is, rely on what you need to rely on to get through the shitty stuff.” Alexander rubbed a hand over John’s shoulders, and was relieved to feel his boyfriend relax beneath his touch. A bit bolder, he went on, “I’m certainly not judging you. Just the opposite. And I mean, I’m biased, because I always want more contact with you. But still, you should listen to me, because I am a credible, reliable, and impartial source on everything, always.” That got a snort. That was progress, maybe. But then— 

“I so don’t deserve you,” said John, more sweetly rueful than anything else, but still Alexander paused: every other time, he’d fucked this one up somehow. After being self-deprecating had backfired once (when John was in a much worse place psychologically than he seemed to be right now, but still), he’d come up with some response that, he hoped, invalidated nothing and wouldn’t come off self-aggrandizing either. He wracked his brains for it now. 

“John, I promise you,” he said slowly, trying to parse it, to make sure it made sense before he said it out loud, “anything that’s a force for good in your life, that helps you or makes you feel better, you absolutely do deserve.” Silence was a sign Alexander couldn’t read at all, as long as John’s face was still turned against his chest. For a moment all he could hear was his own heartbeat. Then John wrapped his arms around Alexander’s chest, pulling him down deeper into the covers. 

“Come here,” he said, and Alexander would have gone, but the computer was kind of in his way. 

“Okay, just let me move this.” John fell back as Alexander leaned forward to pick up the laptop and shut it, looking around for a chair or something to set it on, but the nearest one was too far away to reach without leaving the bed. On the other side of him, John sat up again. “Is this going to bed for real?” Alexander asked. John shrugged. 

“I mean, I’m wiped,” he said. “Should probably brush my teeth, though, right?” 

“Certainly makes it more fun to kiss you in the morning.” 

“Good point.” John groaned softly as he swung his legs around to stand up. “Okay. _Then,_ bed for real.” 

“Yeah.” Alexander stood, too, to cross the room and set his laptop on his desk, making sure it was plugged in. 

“Seriously,” said John from behind him, and when he turned around he was holding out both hands. “Come here.” Alexander went this time, pressing up against his boyfriend gladly. John held him tight against his chest. “You’re the best,” he said into Alexander’s hair. 

“No, you.” Alexander sighed. “Come on.” He pulled away enough to reach up and pull John down to kiss him, then took his hand and walked him to the bathroom, so that the next time they kissed it tasted minty. When they pulled apart John yawned, and his eyes already looked dull. “Yeah,” said Alexander, “let’s go to bed for real.” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” John followed him back to bed and, as soon as they were settled, pulled Alexander into his arms. 

“Mm.” Alexander shifted until he found a position that was comfortable against John’s side, slipping a leg over his and flinging an arm across his chest, still with the blankets pulled up tight above his shoulders. He knew it was really no more than a false sense of security, but he liked the feeling that came with being enveloped like this, between the bedding and John. 

“I’m still right, you know,” John murmured. 

“Hmm?” 

“I do rely on you more than I should.” Alexander started to shake his head, but John squeezed him tighter in the arm that held him and added, “not for me. For you.” 

“Me?” Alexander frowned, not that John would know in the dark. “I’m fine, John.” 

“You’ve got your own shit that needs more addressing than it gets,” John pointed out, which was, though Alexander hated to admit it, true enough. “It’s not fair to you, it’s codependent as hell, and you have enough on your own plate without having mine dumped on top of that.” 

“But I _want_ to take care of you,” said Alexander. “You’re my boyfriend, it’s in my contract.” For a moment his joke was met with silence. Then, 

“What if we break up?” John asked softly. Alexander froze in his arms. That wasn't funny at all. 

“Uh,” he said when he could speak. “That wasn’t—that wasn’t in my plans, was it—you’re not—?” 

“No, no, it’s not in my plans either, not at all,” John added quickly. “But it’s not _completely_ out of the realm of possibility, is it?” Alexander couldn’t exactly conceive of a situation that would lead to such devastation, but, his rational brain reminded him, that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen ever. 

“I guess,” he said, trying to consider the broader picture, avoiding the key element of the scenario that hurt too much to think about. “Well—I mean—you have other support, right? You know Laf would absolutely be there for you if you needed him. Or Herc.” John nodded slowly, chin dipping against Alexander’s forehead. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I know. I don’t know…” He sighed. “They don’t really… they don’t know the whole picture. Lafayette’s gotten a little, but not…” 

“So maybe try letting him in a little more,” Alexander suggested. “He cares about you, too. He’d want to help.” 

“I know,” said John again. “It just—terms like _major depression_ and _suicidal ideation,_ they’re not really what anyone wants to hear from their friends. It scares people. I _know_ it scares you.” 

“Yeah,” Alexander replied slowly, back to choosing his words carefully for the moment, “because I love you, and I don’t want to lose you. And I’m still working on pulling back, on not letting that fear make me, you know, super clingy all the time. But,” he pointed out “Lafayette cares about you too, and he’s a lot more level-headed than I am.” John rubbed a soft circle between his shoulders, and Alexander snuggled closer against him, at the same time leaning back into the touch. 

“He doesn’t have an anxiety disorder to manage while working himself half to death to stay ahead of the curve at the same time, is what you mean,” John added softly. Alexander shrugged, and the hand pressed down a little harder—oh, _that_ was nice. He had been so tense, constantly, for the past three days. John wasn’t wrong. 

“I’m just saying, there’s more than just me. And—maybe it’s getting better?” he tried, hopeful, raising his head to look up at John a little, his eyes having adjusted to the darkness. “Not the internal part, but the external factors. You said it was easier. Was that really just me, or was there other stuff about being back that was better? At least, less bad?” John was quiet for a moment, contemplative. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe there was. I guess—even when it was awful, there was a little weight off of my shoulders, because—” he shrugged. “I think I feel less, less obligated to put up with it. With him. Since I’m getting closer to being out of his reach completely.” 

“Yeah,” Alexander said quietly. “Did you tell him?” John shook his head. 

“Nah, I’m not telling him I’m applying to any grad programs other than just law school until I get in. Then… well, hopefully if the stipend’s enough to live on…” 

“Yeah.” They were quiet for a minute, Alexander imagined both considering the prospect. It was going to be hard, he knew, living without the Henry Laurens safety net, manipulative though it was. He also knew they could manage, assuming nothing drastic happened between now and then in their lives, their employment, their mental health… 

“And I think…” John sighed. “I think my sister, she might be getting… better? Maybe just older. She’s still caught up in Dad’s bullshit, mostly, but then sometimes I think she’s not.” 

“What does that mean?” Alexander murmured, shifting a little and pillowing his head more firmly on John’s shoulder. His hair was still damp, but he also still smelled like soap, and that was nice. 

“Mm, just some stuff she said,” John elaborated, though it wasn’t very illuminating. Luckily he continued: “I mean, she’s moved out now, too, she’s in college, so she’s lived outside the Laurens bubble of constant control and manipulation now. That’s what it took for me to really _get_ how fucked up our home life was. I mean, I kind of got it before then, maybe more than she did, but it took living somewhere else and meeting other people and finding out that how he treats us _isn’t_ normal, you know?” 

“So you think she’s starting to throw off the brainwashing?” said Alexander. John snorted, a vibration Alexander could feel acutely where he lay half across his chest. 

“Yeah, exactly.” 

“Mm.” Alexander sighed, stretching his legs out under the covers. “Tomorrow’s Sunday.” 

“Yeah.” 

“How late do you think you’ll sleep?” 

“Does it have any bearing on how late _you’ll_ sleep?” John whispered doubtfully. 

“…No,” Alexander admitted. “I’ll make you breakfast, though.” 

“Lord deliver us.” 

“Shh, my cooking is _fine._ What d’you think you’ll want?” It was intended as a serious question, but it wasn’t as if he minded when John leaned down to whisper directly into his ear, 

“You, probably.” Alexander snickered, pressing his face against John’s chest for a moment. 

“Well, I’m always here for that,” he said, then fell silent. John went back to rubbing circles and infinities across Alexander’s back, a gentle rhythm, soothing. It didn’t take long before he found himself starting to drift off. Before he could fall all the way asleep, though, John’s voice pulled him back again. 

“I am doing better,” he whispered, and sounded more certain than before. “I want to _be_ better. I hate that I’m a thing for you to worry about.” Alexander shrugged weakly. 

“I just love you,” he mumbled into John’s neck. “That’s all. Want, want you to be okay, but there’s nothing I… can do to fix…” 

“I love you too.” John’s hand stopped moving, became just a comforting weight along Alexander’s ribs. That was all right. He was nearly out anyway. “And you don’t do nothing,” he murmured. “Alexander, _everything_ you do makes my life a little better.” Sleepy limbs or no, Alexander pushed himself up enough that he could kiss John’s cheek before he settled back against his chest, letting his arm fall back so that his hand landed over John’s heart. The steady rhythm aligned their pulses, the beat thumping softly through Alexander’s head, thoughts cohering into a soothing loop to send him off to sleep. 

John was back. John was safe. John was home. 

They were going to be okay. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MAN IT'S FINALLY OVER. this took forever. you realize real Thanksgiving was now over 2 months ago that's how long it took me to write 3.5 days' worth of Dramatic Events for these poor babies
> 
> ... and yet here I am having ideas for follow-ups. So, more may come; I have some thoughts about another thing ft. Martha (possibly both Marthas actually, dun dun dunnnn). First I have like three other things to finish, though ~~(like drunk-texting au oops)~~ , so I'll try to get those done first.
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me through this story! I hope you've enjoyed the ride. I have been, and remain, on tumblr @tobyzieglerintraining. Come find me if you want to scream about modern aus or actual history. (Or pretty much anything else, I just like talking to people. Not in real life so much, but on the internet, hell yeah.)
> 
> Fin.


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